Home again
by ParijanTaiyou
Summary: After hearing of House's 'death', Cuddy goes looking for the baby she abandoned in Ann Arbor in 1988... I'm sure you can guess where this is going. It's an AU, but it sticks so close to canon you won't tell the difference.
1. Prologue

Hello everyone!

You may know me from the House fandom...

I had the idea for this story as soon as I heard about this new show by David Shore about a young doctor who was to be played by Freddie Highmore... and started writing it early this year. I wanted to wait until I had written a few chapters already and decided where I would go with this story. So I'm happy to finally present to you the prologue!

The first chapters are going to be about House and Cuddy. No characters from TGD will make an appearance until at least chapter seven.

Now I know that some House fans don't watch TGD. But if that's your case, I hope you will give this story a try anyway. Like I said, for the first chapters it's really just a House fic.

I'm really excited to know what you guys think, so don't hesitate to leave a review for the prologue and the chapters onwards! :) I hope you'll enjoy it!

(Also, if any of you are wondering about that title: it's from _Lovesong_ by The Cure. I couldn't find a title for this fic, until I saw _Disobedience_ early this summer, which was also when I began to seriously put effort into this fic, and the film has stayed with me, and so has the song...)

(Also, I own neither House nor The Good Doctor)

* * *

 **Home again**

 **Prologue**

* * *

"I should… Go to my room, review papers for the infectious disease panel," Cuddy mumbled before she weaved her way through the crowd towards the exit, feeling House's stare on the back of her head.

She stopped holding back her tears when she climbed alone into the elevator. Suddenly, she was thrown twenty years in the past and she was mourning yet another child.

She got her composure back when the lift reached her floor with a ding and the doors slid open.

"Hey babe," Lucas greeted her from the couch, watching the TV on mute, when she let herself into her suite. "I wasn't expecting you until later."

"I wanted to review the papers for the infectious disease panel tomorrow," she parroted back, heading towards the bathroom to remove her earrings and her makeup. The irony of her Jane Fonda look wasn't lost on her. She'd curled her hair the night of the party too, and he'd kept running his hand through curls tacky with cheap hair spray. As she wiped her lipstick off her lips, she thought of the bright pink stains on the pillow cases that she hadn't had the heart to wash for over a week.

"But you reviewed them before you left."

"'Rachel asleep?"

He gestured towards the cot they'd placed beside their bed. "Like a baby," he cracked. Cuddy didn't have it in her to smile. She changed into her pyjamas and sat on the bed. "Need some help?"

"No, I'm good. You watch… Whatever it is you're watching."

Lucas shrugged and turned back towards the TV, facing away from her. Cuddy looked down at the papers, trying to keep at bay all the _what if's_ and _if only's_ invading her mind.


	2. Chapter One

Hello everyone!

Thank you so much for your feedback!

A friend of mine mentioned that she thought I'd be using Lisa Edelstein's character in TGD for this fic. And in case some of you might be wondering too: her character won't make an appearance in this story, so there's no risk of the two universes colliding weirdly. :P

For this chapter we're going back in time a little... I hope you'll enjoy it.

Also, just a quick disclaimer: the point of this story isn't to portray accurately what giving up a child was like in the United States in the 80's, so I made a quick research and worked on that. There might be some mistakes or inaccuracies (but hopefully nothing that will make you want to tear off your hair).

(This chapter is for my friend House-less. She aced her finals. Go girl!)

* * *

 **Chapter One**

* * *

Guys never call back.

She should have remembered that. It was the reason why she'd been staying away from boys all those months. But _Gregory House_ had made her feel like never before and, stupidly enough, she'd fallen head over heels in love with him.

It had been a week since the party. Since their first and only night together. The memory of it still gave her this tingling sensation between her legs. No one had ever touched her like that, or made her feel like that, until him. After he'd taken her unapologetically, with a fiery passion, right there on her desk, she remembered thinking to herself during round two, legs tangled and bodies wrapped in her sheets, " _So that's what making love feels like._ "

She'd fallen asleep in his arms and he had woken her up with his tongue before he had to leave.

He hadn't called since. She hadn't seen him on campus since.

He must have been finished with his finals and wanting some easy pussy before he went back home.

She should have known better.

But that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

She, on the other hand, still had three finals to go. So she forgot about him, quit crying in her bed all day long while listening to sad pop songs, and locked herself in the library day and night – she couldn't look at her desk without feeling the sting of tears just yet.

But she knew that the hurt would come running back when she found herself back home, alone.

* * *

The morning sickness came running before the hurt did.

She'd barely been at her parents' house for twenty-four hours when she found herself curled around the porcelain bowl, puking her guts out.

The suspicion of the word _pregnancy_ had vaguely grazed her mind when she opened the door of the bathroom, and found her mother standing there in the hallway, handing her a pregnancy test.

"Now," she instructed drily.

Without a word, Cuddy took the box and shut the door. As she followed the instructions and peed on the stick, she _prayed_ for food poisoning.

But God wasn't listening that day.

She opened the door and slumped back on the toilet seat, trying to wrap her mind around the news.

 _Pregnant._

 _She'd stayed away from boys, except for him._

Arlene stared at her with tears in her eyes, her lip wobbling, before she slapped her daughter.

"You idiot," she seethed. "How long?"

Cuddy said nothing, looked down at her knees.

"How long?"

"A month," she whispered.

"Do you know who the father is?" She nodded. "Is he a decent guy, at least? Is he going to do the right thing?"

Cuddy swallowed hard. Tears filled her eyes and she squeezed them shut.

"Tell me," Arlene ordered as she grabbed her daughter's chin.

"I don't know where he is," she admitted with a sob.

Arlene stared at her, shaking. "You're lucky your sister went on a trip to Atlanta with her friends," she spat eventually. "What a fine example you'd be showing her."

"You think I wanted this?"

"I don't know, who didn't wear a condom or take her pill like she was supposed to?" Arlene snapped. "I didn't raise you to be an irresponsible slut."

She looked down and didn't reply, praying for the scolding to be over.

"I'll make an appointment with the clinic first thing tomorrow."

Cuddy stood up, understanding the meaning behind the words. " _No!_ "

"No? What are you going to do, Lisa?" Arlene seethed. "Raise it on your own? Without a husband, without a job? You are _not_ throwing your life away for this little bastard!"

"You are _done_ ordering me around! It's _my_ life!" she yelled as she ran to her bedroom. Something akin to a survival instinct pulsed through her veins and took over, and before she knew it, she'd slammed the door shut and removed her suitcase from the top of her dresser, quickly filling it with the clothes she'd painstakingly hung neatly in her closet the night before.

"Listen to me," Arlene barked as burst into the room, grabbing her arm. "You _can't_ keep it!"

Cuddy yanked her arm free. "It's not your decision to make!" She zipped the suitcase closed. Arlene took it from her hands.

"You have worked far too hard to throw medical school away for this. Like it or not, you're getting rid of it!"

"Give it back!" Cuddy yelled, trying to pry the piece of luggage from her hands.

"What is going on here?" Cuddy's father asked as he stood in the doorway, alerted by the unusually loud argument of his wife and daughter.

"Your daughter is a slut!" Arlene spat. "And it's your fault, you were always too nice with her!"

The distraction was enough for Cuddy to take her suitcase back. Quickly, she lifted it and carried it to the front door. "Where do you think you're going!" her mother yelled as she followed her with her father.

" _Away_."

"And where is that? What are you going to do? You can't have him on your own!"

"You're not making me have an abortion!" Cuddy argued as she slipped her shoes on.

"If you leave here, do not ever come back!"

"Neshomeleh, don't talk to Lisa like that…"

"God! Like I'd want to live with you!"

"Enough!" Cuddy's father yelled. Both women paused and turned to him, startled. He reached into his pocket, emptied his wallet and gave the bills it contained to his daughter.

"Here, get yourself a plane ticket. Be safe. And call us."

Cuddy nodded, her eyelashes wet with tears. Without a single glance towards her mother, she kissed her father and left the house.

She flew back to Michigan, enrolled in summer classes, and disconnected her phone.

* * *

Her mother had been right, she realised bitterly.

The morning sickness was bad, and it left her unable to go to class or concentrate on her notes for a solid two hours every day.

She was exhausted.

All of her friends were on holiday, and she felt lonely.

She couldn't both attend classes and work, so she got by on the money she'd saved up until now, but it meant that she wouldn't be able to rely on it in the future, no matter how much money her father offered to wire her in his letters.

She hadn't spoken to her mother since she left.

She was due in the middle of the second semester.

What then?

She was carrying the baby of a man she knew wouldn't be coming back, and she could see no benefit so far. If the sole fact of carrying it was a burden, what was it going to be like when she had to feed it, raise it?

Her mother had been right.

This couldn't work out.

But she couldn't resign herself to _get rid of it_ , as Arlene had so eloquently put it. This life growing inside her, was the only thing she had left of Gregory House. The sole remnant of her night with him. She couldn't love the guy and not love the tiny organism that carried half his DNA and half of hers.

So she let it grow, and grow.

October came, and the tiny part of her that still hoped he would be back this semester died as the days passed and he was nowhere to be seen.

Two more weeks passed, and her mother came knocking at her door.

They stared at each other without a word, Arlene trying her best to ignore the quite obvious baby bump. Cuddy let her in, but neither of them sat down.

"Your father sent me," Arlene said eventually. "Do you remember your father's friend, Antje? Her son Michael is looking for a wife. He's about your age. He says he doesn't care if you're pregnant."

Cuddy's mouth dropped open. "You talk – never mind. I am not interested."

"We'll get you a dress that hides your bump, so don't worry about it."

Cuddy sneered. "You're just worried about people talking. You're ashamed of me."

Her mother huffed in frustration. "Are you at least seeing an OB/GYN?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"Everything's fine, Mom."

"Stop pretending you can do this on your own." Cuddy sighed. "You should consider it, since you're so intent on keeping the child. A husband would provide you with money if need be, and a father for the child."

"I don't want to get married. I don't even know him."

"I talked it over with Antje, you don't even have to live with him. She just wants her son to settle down. At least meet the guy. You've got nothing to lose."

Cuddy wasn't one to give in so easily – but she did.

When she had a week off from school, she flew back home and met Michael.

Michael was nice enough. Neither particularly bright nor particularly funny, but he was nice. He was in medical school, just like her, though he'd stayed in New Jersey – he said he wanted to be close to his mother which was, Cuddy realised, the complete opposite of her. He had dark hair and brown eyes. Slim and not much taller than her. Not hard on the eye – but he didn't have the silhouette or the intellect or the eyes of Gregory House.

"May I?" he'd asked, gesturing towards her belly.

"Sure," she'd said with an inward sigh, resting her hand on the small of her back. Michael caressed her bump gently with adoration in his eyes, like he was going to be raising her baby or something. It made her feel nauseous and she looked away.

The wedding ceremony was planned for the following weekend. Like Arlene had said, Michael wasn't interested in a romantic relationship – his mother wanted him to settle down, and he didn't want to disappoint her. The baby wasn't an issue – he always wanted kids. Her living eight hundred miles away wasn't an issue – they wouldn't quite be a couple after all. Money wasn't an issue, either – his family was well off, so Cuddy didn't have to go through medical school to support them. Really, she _didn't have to_.

Cuddy tightened her grin to hide her wince.

Which she also did as she stood under the chuppah and Michael stepped on a glass. The ring around her finger felt heavier than an iron ball. She turned to her parents, the only guests who weren't shouting Mazel Tov, with the absolute certainty that she had made a terrible mistake.

Her father nodded at her, and a week later her marriage was annulled.

She never spoke to Michael again.

She never knew the part that her father played in it, but her mother started talking to her again.

She just knew things would never be the same between them again.

* * *

At least, her friends were supportive. She had people she could count on, even when her closest relatives were eight hundred miles away.

They gave her their notes, helped her get groceries, drove her to the OB/GYN.

But the more time went by, the more she felt like a burden.

No more parties. No more alcohol. No more going to the library – because of the stares. Though she had never disclosed the identity of the father to anyone, they all figured out that she was pregnant and the father wasn't around. Half the school felt sorry for her, and the other half thought she was a slut who had it coming.

The stares were worse when she went to class. She'd stopped sitting in the front row a long time ago, anyway – she was afraid of what the professors would think when they saw her bump.

So she stayed at home, and studied from her friends' notes. She was tired. She was cranky. She was bored. She missed school – she missed wanting to answer the professors' questions, the competition, the challenge.

Nevertheless, it had seemed like the perfect solution.

Until she flunked her midterms.

She was going to go mad if this didn't end soon.

She couldn't raise this child.

She hated Gregory House for falling in love with him. She hated him for never coming back. Sometimes she dreamt of him at night – he'd stuck around and they were dealing with this together. She didn't hold back her tears when she woke up in the morning.

All the while, this life had grown inside her. She could feel his tangible little kicks and sometimes talked to him – or her. She'd refused to know the gender, for fear of being attached to it even more.

But it didn't seem to have helped.

* * *

A couple weeks before she was due, Julia moved in with her.

She had graduated high school a few months back, but had never enrolled in college – that way, she had all the free time she needed to help her sister. She'd also just gotten her driving licence – she'd be able to take her sister to the hospital when her water broke.

Sometimes Cuddy caught her looking at her belly, a little envious. It didn't make telling her what she had to say any easier.

"I'm giving him up," she told her eventually.

Julia sat beside her. "To whom?"

"Foster care. I don't want to know who."

"Give him to me."

Cuddy looked up at her.

Julia had just gotten engaged. Her fiancé and her wanted kids. Lots of kids.

"And you'll, what, raise him as your own?" Julia nodded. "He'll call you Mom and I'll be Aunt Lisa?" Her eyes filled with tears. "Either way, I'll be away from him. I don't need the reminder that I'm not the one taking care of him."

She burst into tears and Julia held her tight.

It broke her heart, but she still knew it was the right decision. She wanted to be a doctor more than a housewife.

"Him?" her sister teased when her tears had subsided, hoping to lighten the mood.

Cuddy smiled. "The nurse let it slip the other day."

Julia didn't ask if she'd thought of a name yet.

* * *

She cried quietly in bed every night, mourning the loss of a child that was still living inside her.

Julia, who slept on a mattress next to her bed, pretended she couldn't hear her.

* * *

After her water had broken, it was a bit of a blur.

She was panicked because she would be in pain for hours, because in a few days she would never be able to see her baby again.

She remembered Julia putting their coats on and driving them to the hospital. She remembered the words "fetal distress" and "emergency C-section" after she felt a sharp, white-hot pain in her stomach and heard herself scream. She remembered the bright surgical lighthead above her before they put her under.

When she woke up, the first thing she was aware of was the emptiness in her belly – just hours before, it felt like it was ready to burst. The second thing was Julia sitting by her bedside, holding her hand.

Her doctor was already in the room to check her vitals. He explained her situation to her, and she heard words like, "I'm sorry," and "ever again". She was still too under to understand or ask any questions – the memory never resurfaced until her miscarriage, years later.

But the baby was safe, sleeping quietly in a cradle by her bed.

It was all that mattered.

"Do you want to hold him?" Julia asked after the doctor had left.

Cuddy nodded.

As she held his little body against her breast, the first thing she noticed was the heap of wild, curly hair on his head. As she ran her hand along the cotton of his hospital-issued body, he instinctively wrapped his tiny hand around her index finger and opened his eyes.

She'll never forget Gregory House's eyes staring right back at her.

* * *

The nurse showed her how to hold him when she breastfed him and bathed him and gave him his bottle, and how to change his diaper. It was mostly Julia who listened, always volunteering to help her sister take care of the unnamed newborn while they waited for her to be strong enough to leave the hospital.

Cuddy avoided looking at him, but found she couldn't tear her eyes away from her son.

* * *

When she was discharged, all she had to do was sign away her parental rights. Social services were there to pick up the baby.

Cuddy held him in her arms one last time as Julia gathered her bags.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"I don't have a choice."

Julia nodded. "Bye, little one," she whispered as she kissed her nephew's forehead. She left the hospital room and waited for her sister in the hallway, pressing her hand against her mouth to keep from crying.

She heard her walk out of the room after a few minutes.

"Let's go," she instructed as she rushed past her. Her stiff-upper-lipped sister was quite the sight – trying unsuccessfully to hold her shattering heart together as she hurried towards the exit.

* * *

When they got home, Cuddy headed straight to her bed and lay down, her coat and shoes still on.

Julia took a minute to get rid of her outerwear, and lay down on her flank facing her sister, like they used to do when they were little.

Cuddy didn't look at her, her stare lost in the distance. She didn't react when Julia began to caress her hair.

"Are they going to give you some news?"

Cuddy shook her head.

"I should leave Ann Arbor," she said.

"You've always wanted to study here."

"Everybody here knows about me. The father isn't coming back. I might bump into my baby when I go out to get groceries."

"Can you tell me who the father is?" she asked after a minute. "I won't tell Mom and Dad."

She took a moment to gather her thoughts.

"His name is Gregory House. I met him at the bookstore..."

She fell asleep when she was finished telling their story, Julia still caressing her hair.

* * *

Time went by. She moved out at the end of the school year, and pretended she wasn't mourning.

Her mother began talking to her as if nothing had happened. Her father and Julia looked at her with sad eyes sometimes, but it passed.

Eventually, even she kind of forgot that a human being that was half her and half Gregory House was breathing somewhere in the world.

During the first years, his memory was a dull pain in her chest on his birthday, and on the anniversary of her night with Gregory House.

On those days, she mentally celebrated the milestones in his life – he'd said his first words, taken his first step, started pre-school, primary school, middle school, had his first kiss, high school, had his driving licence, had left home to go to college. She imagined what he looked like, what he enjoyed – his favourite songs, sports, films, books – what he wanted to be when he grew up.

On the remaining 363 days of the year, it was never easy to care for a woman in labour or a newborn baby. That passed with experience, too – she wasn't the only doctor who found some situations trickier than others to handle.

The only thing that never faded was her glistening eyes when she found herself in the maternity ward.

* * *

She never breathed a word to anyone.

Not even when Gregory House found himself in her ER complaining of agonizing leg pain.

Not even when she hired Gregory House.

Not even when she asked for Gregory House's help when she started IVF.

Not even when Gregory House kissed her in her hallway.

Not even when she adopted a little girl.

Not even when Gregory House told her he would have called her.

Not even when she poured her heart out to Gregory House after that horrible night in Trenton.

Not even when she thought she was dying.

Not even when Gregory House died.


	3. Chapter Two

Hello everyone!

Thank you for your feedback.

I should have mentioned that this story is at first... pretty damn sad (my bad). I was at the moment writing a chapter much further in time which is just happy happy happy, so it didn't cross my mind that I should warn you. That being said: it gets happier later on, I promise. You do need a storm before you can have sunshine after all.

This new chapter is set after season 8, and it's where the story actually starts (no more going back and forth in time, it's 2012 and we're staying there. :P). And again, a quick disclaimer: I've got no clue if what I wrote about the foster care system is anywhere close to accurate. Sorry.

Please don't hesitate to leave a review on your way out! I'll see you guys soon.

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

* * *

Coincidentally enough, Cuddy was attending a symposium in Ann Arbor, Michigan, when Wilson called to inform her of Gregory House's death.

House had died in a fire just the night before, and he thought she would want to know, even after what he did to her, and the funeral was this Friday if she would like to attend.

She politely declined and told Wilson to call her anytime if he wanted to talk – about his friend, his illness, _anything._

The news shook her more than expected – not that she'd been expecting to hear of his death so soon, or at all.

She'd buried him along with her life in Princeton when she left.

She'd seen a therapist a few times, but it had been fruitless and she'd just proclaimed the matter as 'dealt with and left behind her in order to move on and rebuild her life with Rachel far away from Princeton'.

Who was she kidding?

After she hung up, it took a few seconds for the news to finally dawn on her.

Gregory House was dead.

Gregory House had ceased to exist.

She would never see him again.

She wept quietly in her empty hotel room, sitting on the edge of the bed – it was still early morning and she had conferences to attend in an hour. The full-blown tears would have to wait.

She was pretty sure she was not in love with Gregory House anymore – after he drove his car into her living-room and forced her to flee, how could she? She probably didn't like him that much anymore. She hated him. She hated him, right? She was angry with him. But did she hate him?

No, it hurt because she was mourning someone who had been such a huge part of her life. She'd known him for over twenty years. She'd been in love with him for over twenty years. They had been co-workers, friends, lovers, even parents somewhat – she'd envisioned room for him in her life with Rachel, and they'd had a son together.

They'd had a son together.

She couldn't explain it. But the questions that had been popping into her mind from time to time – _what does my son look like? What's his name? What is he like? What does he do for a living? Has he met that special someone? Do they have kids? Is he happy? Does he know about me? Is he looking for me?_ – were suddenly tormenting her, playing on a loop all day long – along with snippets of her life with Gregory House, prompted by everything and anything.

It of course didn't help that she chose to roam the campus after hours – the lecture halls, the library, the dorms, that pizza place that she liked and had been turned into a laundromat, the lacrosse fields, the bookstore, the place where that party had been held.

She went back to her hotel room after midnight, her feet sore and her heart heavy.

She gave herself a full night's sleep to think over her decision, but found that it was impossible to fall asleep the night after Gregory House had died.

The full-blown tears finally hit.

When her alarm rang, she decided to blow off the lectures she'd been meaning to attend.

* * *

Her geographical location when Gregory House had died had prompted this desire to contact the foster care system and ask about her son. She didn't really believe in a God, per se, but the fact that she'd heard of his death in the place where they'd met and fallen in love and had a son meant something to her.

What convinced her was the missing answers to her questions.

The people she talked to on the phone were more helpful than she'd imagined, and all she had to do was get her sister to fax them the paperwork that she'd asked her to keep, and now needed in order to access the records of the new-born she'd left in their care years ago.

She waited the entire morning, lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling.

She got a digital copy of the records on her email. The physical one would reach her by post in a few days.

When the email popped up on her screen, she clasped her BlackBerry to her chest for a minute, her heart pounding. The answers she was looking for, the answers she _needed_ , were a click away.

This would change everything.

She opened the email.

In the attached file were a picture of the newborn she'd given up – black hair tousled and blue eyes closed – a void where her name and address were supposed to be, his date of birth – 6th of February, 1988 – vaccination records, paediatrician's visits.

Pictures of him until he's two or three years old, flanked by either adoptive parent, Gregory House's eyes staring right back at her.

His given name. Shaun Murphy.

She said it aloud. Repeated it, again and again, enjoying how warm his first name felt on her tongue, how it whistled in her ears.

An address in Casper, Wyoming.

She grabbed her purse and headed down to the parking garage before she could question her impulse.

She wasn't sure if she wanted to go there yet, break the illusions she'd been making up since she'd left him. She knew meeting him would kill the very different image of him that she had made, and she'd have to mourn her imaginary child, even if it meant meeting her son.

What she did know however, was that she hurt, and the remedy was two thousand miles away.

She'd only caught a glimpse of the answers to her questions, and now that she had she craved more.

She'd just lost Gregory House, but she could find him again, could see those eyes again.

Julia called. She let it go to voicemail.

She drove her rental car straight to Detroit Metro Airport and booked the first flight to Casper, Wyoming.

* * *

Pulling up to the address in Casper eight hours later, Cuddy took a look at herself in the rear-view mirror.

The six hours of flight and connection in Denver had exhausted her. Her hair was tousled, her makeup running slightly underneath her eyes. She was sore and sweaty. The weather was hot and muggy, and she longed to take a shower and sleep; but the answers that she sought kept fuelling her.

She found the hairbrush she always kept in her purse, as well as tissue papers, and regained a somewhat decent shape before she got out of the car.

Just like she'd feared, the Murphy's had moved. However, the hours spent thinking and overthinking on the planes meant she had a plan B ready, which she immediately kicked into gear.

Looking around, she saw their next-door neighbour, a redhaired woman in her sixties, cutting roses in her front yard.

"Hi," Cuddy said tentatively with a small wave of her hand, suddenly stripped of her confidence. The woman pushed her glasses further up on her nose to size her up. "I was wondering if you knew the Murphy's. They lived right next door."

"Oh, sure," she said with a small smile, deciding that the woman in front of her could be trusted since she knew her former neighbours. "But they moved out years ago, not long after their son died."

Cuddy stopped breathing.

"Died?"

That… had never been part of the different fates she'd envisioned for him.

Before the woman could say anything, Cuddy's face was drenched in tears, her mind struggling to comprehend this information.

She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to muffle a sob – which turned out to be a cry.

"I'm so sorry, I thought you knew," the neighbour said eventually, resting a hand on Cuddy's shoulder. "Why don't you come in for a tea?" she asked then, with an understanding smile – like she knew who she was.

Cuddy nodded and let her lead her inside, trying to stop her tears, feeling foolish for crying in a complete stranger's hallway. The neighbour showed her where the bathroom was, and with a comforting rub of her shoulder, told her to take her time while she made tea. "Feel free to grab a towel under the sink."

Once the door was locked behind her, Cuddy forced herself to take deep breaths, rinsing her face in the sink, until she stopped shaking. Her cries had been as intense as they had been brief, but she knew she could be overwhelmed again at any second.

It took her more deep breaths to regain composure. Sitting on the toilet, she breathed like she did every morning, when she found her happy place before dealing with the stress that the work day would bring.

She opened the door and found herself in an unknown house in an unknown town. The walls were covered in wallpaper from the 70's. The house smelled of canned fruits.

She'd just _cried_ into a stranger's towel, for Christ's sake, _what was she thinking being here?_

The answers she'd been so desperately seeking earlier, were now daunting her. Terrifying her. Nothing good could come out of this.

She was no coward. She faced challenges head-on. It was why she'd graduated second of her class. Why she'd been the best damn administrator there was.

But this would engulf her whole.

No doubt having heard the bathroom door open, the neighbour appeared in the hallway when Cuddy had reached the front door, her stomach in a knot.

"I'm sorry," Cuddy stammered. "I should go. I shouldn't bother you like this."

"Water's all boiled! Come and sit down. There are things you should know."

Cuddy didn't move, her hand clutching the handle.

The woman in front of her sensed that no rational argument would convince her to stay.

"You're Shaun's mother, aren't you?"

Cuddy's silence was the only answer she needed.

"It's not him who died," she explained softly.

Cuddy took a long, shaky breath, like she'd just resurfaced.

 _Deep breaths. Before she could get overwhelmed again._

The neighbour stepped back into the kitchen, confident that Cuddy would follow her – which she did.

Cuddy sat at the kitchen table, eyes riveted to the table. She felt her sweaty hands stick to the orange wax cloth. The freshly-cut roses were in a vase in front of her.

The woman gave her a cup of tea. "I'm Jean."

"Lisa." She wrapped her hands around the warm mug.

While Cuddy appreciated her efforts to lighten the atmosphere, she suddenly couldn't wait for those answers anymore.

"They never did tell him, you know."

It was a blow to Cuddy. It hurt to know he never thought about her, never wondered who she was, never tried to find her. But then… It was why she hadn't even left her name. Back then it had seemed that leaving him behind her and moving on was the best idea.

She didn't look up, fearing that the conversation wouldn't be a pleasant one. She prayed for Jean to tell her everything and let her leave as soon as possible.

"They moved in when Shaun was about two or three. They'd just had a son of their own. Moved in next door, the four of them."

Jean got silent, like it was painful for her to go there.

Cuddy glanced up, alarmed.

"They weren't a happy family. It was complicated."

"How so?" The words tumbled out of her mouth faster than she would have liked. Her heart broke imagining that her son wasn't happy. The first pang of guilt hit her, and she thought to herself that House would tease her for it if he were here.

 _House…_

"Shaun was different."

"Different how?"

"He didn't talk much. Didn't like talking. Didn't reply when people talked to him. Never made eye contact. He stayed on his own a lot. Then his brother grew up and they were inseparable."

"He's autistic."

The first thought that came to mind, was the memory of House treating an autistic kid and being surprisingly great at communicating with him. It had prompted a conversation with Wilson about whether House had Asperger's.

She knew that parenting an autistic kid could be challenging at times – maybe she could have done it on her own, or maybe not. But if House had stuck around and she'd kept the baby… House might have been great with him. Shaun might have been a lot happier.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, refusing to go there.

"His parents weren't understanding of that," Jean continued.

Cuddy squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to imagine what that entailed. The neighbour kept silent, letting her process the news.

"Were they ever abusive?" she whispered.

"His father was."

"Oh, God."

Jean reached out for her hand. Cuddy wanted to yank it away. _You knew and you didn't help him?_

She fought back her tears, swallowed the bile rising in her throat. The guilt that had assailed her earlier was tearing her heart apart.

She'd left her baby in the care of _this man_.

It then occurred to Cuddy that she _had_ found House in Shaun. Just not in the way she had imagined.

"After their son died, they moved away."

"How did he die?" she asked then, terrified of what the answer would be. What if he'd died at the hands of their father? What if the same thing had happened to Shaun?

Jean had said they were inseparable. He must have loved his brother very much. How heartbroken he must have been – how alone he must have felt after that.

"What happened… Is their story to tell." Cuddy nodded, understanding that if her fears had turned out to be real, she wouldn't have the option of talking to them. They'd be in jail.

"What about you?" Jean asked with a sincere smile. "What's your story?"

"Had him in college. Father wasn't around." She gave a small shrug. "Couldn't keep him."

"Why now?"

"Just heard of his father's death, so…"

Jean clasped her hand. "I'm sorry."

She nodded.

"I have their new address, if you want to get in touch with them. But you should know that they may not be in touch with Shaun."

"I'll take it."

This was what she had come for in the first place. No matter what was awaiting her at the end, she would see it through.

Jean looked around for some spare paper, and gave her the address scribbled on the back of a receipt.

"Do you have a place to stay?" she asked her as she showed her to the door.

Cuddy looked at her watch. It was past seven.

"I'm catching a flight back," she replied, hoping there would be one this late. If not, she'd pick up toiletries near the airport and find a hotel room. In fact, it was probably what she would do. She longed for nothing more than a shower and a bed.

She thanked Jean and drove back to the airport. She drove past a school, wondered if Shaun used to go there, a park, wondered if he'd enjoyed hanging out there, if he'd had any friends besides his brother, if anyone else had been kind to him, various stores, wondered if he'd had a favourite one, if a store he'd liked had been replaced by another and he'd been sad about it.

She stopped in a convenience store along the way. Near the register, she saw a stuffed buffalo that had 'Wyoming' embroidered on its belly, and wished she could get it for Rachel.

Once in her hotel room, she let herself fall on the bed and took a deep breath. Remembering that Rachel would call around 8 o'clock, like she'd done every night of the symposium, she jolted herself awake and turned to the clock on the wall.

Half past 8. She should have called already.

Fishing her phone out of her handbag, she frowned when the screen displayed 10 p.m., as well as three missed calls from home and one voicemail from Julia.

"Oh, shit," she mumbled as she hastily called back. "Hey, David," she greeted when her boyfriend answered. "I'm so sorry, I… somehow got into this dinner with a bunch of pharm reps." She wondered how long it had been since she'd last eaten something. "'Rachel in bed yet?"

Telling him anything was out of the question.

The poor guy didn't even know about House. Somehow she'd left out this entire part of her life during their late-night, post-coital talks.

He would not understand, she'd told herself. He could not comprehend how deeply she'd loved him. How she couldn't love anyone else that way.

She'd told him about Princeton Plainsboro, she'd told him about her friend Wilson – enough that he knew his name, but they'd never met. The name of Gregory House had never passed her lips, in spite of how significant he had been in her life. She didn't know – or care – if it meant she'd never gotten over House, if it meant her relationship with David mattered less than it should. What she did know, was that she would never have a relationship like the one she had with House again.

She _liked_ David. She might even be in love with him. He was a nice guy, great with Rachel, funny and compassionate, easy to talk to. They led a quiet, satisfying life. But there weren't any sparks. There was no passion between them. No battle of wits, no challenges. He wasn't the one she ran to when she needed advice, when she wanted a second opinion, when she wanted to hear truths. He didn't haunt her day and night. He didn't make her want to strangle him one second and fuck him senseless the next.

Gregory House had been all of those things, and more.

"Hey, baby." Cuddy grinned hearing her daughter's voice. "How was your day?"

She closed her eyes listening to her daughter talk, imagining she was at home with her – she wasn't in a hotel in Casper, Wyoming, she hadn't just found out her son had lived in an abusive household, Gregory House hadn't died.

"I miss you, too," she said, realising she meant it more than she thought, before Rachel gave the phone to David, who promptly asked her how her day had been.

"I'm so tired," she said with a small chuckle, knowing it would be enough for him to back off. He suggested that they both go to bed and she agreed.

After she hung up, she quickly texted Julia to let her know she'd call her tomorrow. She didn't bother listening to her voicemail, but she knew that asking her to unearth the old paperwork had worried her.

She set her phone on the bedside table and stared at the ceiling for a while.

She was starving, but decided to wait until morning to have a large breakfast. It had been a rough day, and all she wanted was to let it end and fall asleep. Before she could do that, she gathered enough energy to head to the adjoining bathroom and get ready for bed.

She set her alarm, wishing she hadn't booked an early flight.

She wanted to look at Shaun before she closed her eyes, so she opened the email she'd received earlier.

She stared at the photograph of him as a baby until she fell asleep.

"I'm sorry," she whispered at some point.

All night, she dreamt of Shaun.


	4. Chapter Three

Hi everyone!

This is, again, a pretty sad chapter... But I think you'll like where the story is heading next.

Thank you for your feedback! Please don't hesitate to let me know what you think.

As some of you may know, I'm not Jewish. Everything I know about Jewish funerals comes from an Internet search, so I apologise if you find any inaccuracies.

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

* * *

When Cuddy opened her eyes the next day, she had made her decision.

She would blow off the last day of conferences and go to Harrisburg, South Dakota.

She grabbed her phone to cancel her flight back to Detroit and booked the same flight to Denver again, where she would this time catch another plane to Sioux Falls.

As daunting as meeting the abusive asshole that had adopted her son was, it was her only hope of finding Shaun. By the end of the day, she might have an address or a phone number belonging to a young man who was half Gregory House.

She called room service to have breakfast delivered while she took a quick shower. She wouldn't have time to get new clothes and would have to keep the outfit she'd worn the day before – wrinkled and vaguely smelling of sweat, but for once she didn't care.

Quickly gathering her stuff into her purse once she'd filled her stomach, she headed to the airport.

* * *

It was early afternoon when she arrived at the Murphys' – she'd looked at her watch when her plane had landed, and had had a thought for House, who'd just been buried. She hadn't had lunch in order to get there earlier, but now regretted it; if both the Murphys were at work, she would have to wait until they got home anyway.

Her stomach in a knot, she knocked at the door, and braced herself in case it was the husband who opened the door. She was face to face with a woman a few years older than herself, with soft features and black wavy hair.

"Hi, are you Mrs Murphy?" Cuddy blurted.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry to bother you. My name is Lisa Cuddy."

The woman just looked at her. Cuddy froze. She started toying with her pinkie, at a loss for words. How the hell could she put it gently into words?

"Do we know each other?" Mrs Murphy asked, prompting Cuddy to say the first thing that came off the top of her head.

"You adopted a baby boy back in Ann Arbor, in 1988."

Mrs Murphy blanched, suddenly recognising some of Shaun's features on the woman's face. She covered her mouth with her hand and, before Cuddy could say anything, she'd told her to never come back and slammed the door in her face.

But Cuddy wasn't going to be deterred or discouraged. She'd come this far. She needed to see her son again. Her eyes filling with angry tears, she pounded on the door until someone opened it again – someone none other than Mr Murphy, who towered other her and seethed into her face, "You need to leave."

"Please," she insisted. "You adopted my son!"

"That little freak stopped being your son the second you abandoned him!"

Cuddy recoiled, bile rising in her throat. "Look, I'm _sorry_ –"

"Adopting him was the worst thing that happened to us!"

"I'm sorry about what happened to your son –"

"How do you know about that?" Mr Murphy took another step towards her, his voice cold and threatening.

"I just need Shaun's address," she insisted, with a courage she didn't know she had. "Or his phone number, I'm not here to harass you."

"Shaun killed our son," he growled into her face. "He is _dead_ to us. Now _leave_."

As he walked back towards his house, Cuddy caught a glimpse of Mrs Murphy standing in the hallway, a concerned frown on her face. "Mrs Murphy, _please_ –"

Mr Murphy whirled around, grabbed Cuddy's arm and dragged her to the rental car she'd parked along the curb. "You don't talk to my wife."

"Let me go, asshole!"

"If I ever see you around here again…"

Cuddy didn't wait for him to finish his sentence and ducked into the car, turning on the ignition with shaking hands. The sounds of her harsh breathing filled the car as she drove away, until could pull over and take a minute to catch her breath. She closed her eyes and tried to find her inner peace. Her arm still throbbed where the man had grabbed her and she knew it would bruise. She could taste bile in the back of her throat.

She broke down in tears.

She'd left her son in the care of those horrible people, and she wouldn't be able to get in touch with him. They'd been her last hope.

God, she wished House had been with her…

The area was deserted, so she allowed herself to cry her heart out.

Eventually, seemingly on auto-pilot, she drove back to the airport in Sioux Falls, booked a flight to Denver to pick up her stuff in Ann Arbor, and another, final flight home, seeing that she wouldn't have time to catch the flight she'd originally booked. She wouldn't be home before midnight at best, but at least she could tell David her flight had been cancelled. Her alibi was safe and he would never have to know.

As she fastened her seat belt for that last flight with a sigh, she decided that she wouldn't be flying again for a long time.

When she unlocked her front door and Rachel came barrelling towards her, she wondered why she was bothering chasing ghosts.

All she needed was right here.

She knelt on the floor to welcome the little girl into her arms, holding her tight, whispering in her hair that she'd missed her. She filled her lungs with her smell, trying to hold back tears, loving the feel of her soft pyjamas against her palms.

David knelt next to her and held them both in his arms. She chuckled.

"She didn't want to sleep until you were home," he said, apologetically. "Neither did I."

She was so swept up by love and happiness that until she was lying alone in bed waiting for David to join her, she didn't remember she was mourning.

She hastily wiped her tears when he pulled back the covers on his side of the bed.

"Lisa, are you okay?"

"Yeah, just tired. And sad."

He lay on his flank and took her hand. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

She shook her head no. No, she didn't want to tell him she was grieving a son she'd never told him about, or the most important man of her life (that she hadn't told him about, either).

He knew she was a private person and did not insist. He did, however, motion for her to roll on her side so he could spoon her. Letting her cry without an audience was the best thing he could do.

They switched the lights off. She cried quietly, holding their clasped hands against her chest.

"You know my friend Wilson?" she spoke up after a while. "I got a call from him. The cancer's not looking good."

"I'm sorry." He kissed her behind her ear. "Maybe you should visit him again?" She shook her head no. Princeton held too many bittersweet memories. Princeton without House would be even more painful. "Give him a phone call?"

"Yeah. I should do that."

After she had moved away, she hadn't been in touch very often. She'd told herself that she needed time to move past the trauma. She'd called Wilson after a few weeks, but they'd quickly realised that apart from House, they didn't have a lot in common. Wilson had mentioned that he hadn't forgiven House and wouldn't be visiting him in prison; Cuddy had immediately changed the subject. Then House had been released, and Wilson had been painfully striving to hide from her that he and House were friends again, and she had gritted her teeth and pretended she couldn't read between the lines or hear that he sounded more cheerful than before.

They'd talk about work, for maybe ten minutes, then promise to call each other soon, without ever suggesting that they meet up.

Then he'd told her about the cancer.

"Is he there for you?" she'd asked, rather reluctantly.

"In his own way, but yes."

She'd remembered he hadn't been for her. She'd remembered she hadn't been there for him either after his relapse, how her regrets had consumed her day and night in spite of how cruelly he had been treating her afterwards.

She'd wondered how things would have turned out if they'd been more supportive and understanding of each other – she might be in Princeton with him, with Wilson, facing his diagnosis – and she'd quickly locked that thought away and mentally disposed of the key.

After that, they would call each other less and less frequently – she would tell herself that he was tired, that he was dealing with the news, that House was there for him anyway and Wilson didn't need her.

But now that House was gone… Wilson was on his own.

It was what he did after all, the selfish bastard – he got high and didn't own up to his responsibilities towards the people who loved him.

She let a sob escape her and David held her tighter.

* * *

The day after, she called Julia, like she did every Saturday.

"Hey Jules, what's up," she greeted her cautiously.

"What's _up_? Do you want to tell me why you needed me to fax the foster care paperwork?"

David had taken Rachel to the park. She could talk freely.

"You said you'd call," Julia continued.

"I know, I'm sorry. Wilson called, during the symposium," she began to explain, but her throat closed up. "House died," she finally let out.

She covered her mouth with her hand, but there was no way Julia could have missed the tremor in her voice.

"Well, good riddance, isn't it?" But Cuddy didn't reply. Julia sighed. "Lisa, I don't know why we're having this conversation again. You should have stuck with therapy. _He drove his car into your dining room_."

"I know."

"He could have killed you. He was a manipulative, abusive son of a bitch, and the world will be much better off without him."

But it didn't quell her tears.

"You're not still in love with him, are you?" she asked with dismay.

"I don't know!" Cuddy exclaimed. "I've known him for so long. Suddenly he's not here. I miss him. And I want my son."

There was a pause, where Julia understood her _need_ to meet her son after she got the news. She deeply resented the man for the way he'd handled her sister's health scare, hated him for destroying her house and forcing her to move away overnight, but he also was the father of a child that she'd abandoned and never mentioned again. Having children of her own, Julia couldn't begin to imagine how painful it all had been for her sister.

"So how'd that turn out?" Julia asked softly.

Cuddy told her everything – from the address in Casper, Wyoming to her blowing off the symposium to fly to Harrisburg, South Dakota.

"God, what if I never find him?"

"Have you tried googling him?"

"I did. He's not on facebook or anything else." She sniffed. "He could be dead for all I know."

"You can't lose faith!"

"I know."

"You'll find him eventually. Knowing you and knowing House he might very well win some Nobel Prize in a few years."

She chuckled through her tears.

* * *

She promised herself to call Wilson every week – which she did.

Much to her surprise, he'd gone on a road trip, riding across the country a motorcycle he'd learned to drive in college.

She was worried about him driving in his condition – what if he lost consciousness on the road? But he sounded so happy about this trip that she eventually convinced herself that it was the best thing he could do. What was the point of spending his last five months alternating between his office and a private room in PPTH?

Besides, she figured that taking that bike trip was his own way of honouring his best friend's memory, of being closer to him.

Good for him, she thought.

Every week he told her excitedly about the landscapes and the monuments he'd seen, the people he'd met, the foods he'd tried. She listened enthusiastically and drew his itinerary on a map that she'd bought. Sometimes he sent her postcards, which she pinned on the map. Rachel didn't remember him much, but she'd sit and look for a long time at the itinerary of Uncle Wilson.

Realising that there was a high risk of never seeing him again, Cuddy would occasionally ask for them to meet up, spend a few days together – she would happily fly to wherever he was, but he always declined, telling her he never even knew where he would be the day after. He always promised her that he would come knocking at her door if he ever found himself in her neck of the woods.

One day, he didn't pick up.

Two weeks later, Foreman called her to let her know the funeral would be held the following day.

* * *

A lot of the attendees were waiting outside when she got to the synagogue; among them, she recognised many of her former employees. Taking a deep breath, Cuddy got out of the car.

David had suggested that he accompanied her to Princeton, but she'd declined. He had not been a part of the PPTH aspect of her life. She needed to go alone.

The sky was overcast, the chilly weather typical for a November morning. She pulled her coat tighter around her frame as she joined the crowd.

She was surprised by how many people stepped up to greet her. After all, she'd left in a rush, without a proper goodbye to anyone – the police didn't know where House was, and he could come back anytime to 'finish the job', although she'd doubted he would break into her house at night and smother her with a pillow. Still, him driving his car into her dining room had scared her, rattled her. When the shock had waned and night had fallen, she'd made the decision to leave and take Rachel as far away as possible.

Their former employees told her they missed her and that PPTH wasn't quite the same, but she didn't regret her decision. In retrospect, getting away from all the House madness was one of the best things that had happened to her.

Still, being at the funeral _was_ weird. All these familiar faces that she knew and who recognized her and nodded at her (she'd considered going with a pair of sunglasses, Jackie Kennedy-style). The missing one that she sought out without realising it, like the missing last piece of a puzzle.

She shook hands with Thirteen, Taub, Cameron, Chase, chatted with Foreman.

"I don't know if he'll be there," Foreman told her. "I haven't heard from him since…" His voice trailed off, like she was supposed to fill it in for him and say "oh, right".

"If who'll be there?" is what distractedly came out of her mouth instead.

Foreman stared, and even if he could come up with a name fast enough, she could see on his face that he knew he'd just made a mistake.

It took him a split second to consider his options – he could, tentatively, ask her, "You didn't know?" stall for a few seconds and make a decision based on her answer and reaction. Because he knew that he'd just stepped in it – and that she was going to know eventually.

"House."

There was a pause.

"Right," she said.

They were let inside the synagogue before she could process the news. Once they were all seated, they were joined by Wilson's parents and his ex-wives, each wearing a black ribbon pinned on their clothes, who sat in the front row. The synagogue was full, and some attendees had to stand in the back.

Cuddy held herself together during the prayers, but when the eulogies began, her head started to spin.

She'd just lost one of her closest friends, and she hadn't seen him in months.

House hadn't died – and this changed everything. Wilson hadn't died alone. For that she was relieved and grateful; but she'd mourned the son of a bitch, and for that she wanted to rip his head off.

Covering her mouth with her hand to muffle her sob, she rushed out of the synagogue to get some fresh air.

And she saw him.

She'd recognize his tall silhouette anywhere.

He was standing in the distance, staring in her direction. Her bursting out of the synagogue must have caught his attention.

He was just as she'd remembered – though maybe a bit thinner.

They just stood there, looking at each other.

It was hard not to remember his cold stare as he handed her hairbrush, the deafening racket of his car shattering her walls and furniture.

It was hard not to remember the fleeting, ephemeral look in his eyes when they'd lie together in bed, a look that bared his soul and his heart without him needing to say a single word.

She'd thought she would never see him again.

She wanted to run towards him, towards this oh-so-familiar figure that would fill the gap he'd left in her heart, no matter how conflicted her feelings about him were, but there was something about him that kept her frozen in place.

She didn't know for how long they just stood there, but when she heard the doors of the synagogue open again behind her, she turned around to see the attendees begin to walk out quietly.

When she looked in his direction again, he was gone.

But in her mind, there was no question at all that it had been real.

She followed everyone to the cemetery, casting glances behind her shoulder without realising it. She caught Foreman's stare and he looked away.

She was the last one to stand in front of Wilson's grave, making up for her absence in Wilson's life those last months. Unconsciously, she hoped that House might join her.

She let herself mourn her friend, tears cascading down her cheeks in silence.

She added a pebble to the fresh earth that would soon be a tomb and, even though she didn't have the heart to, she joined the attendees at one of Wilson's ex-wife's apartment to sit shiva with them. It unfortunately wasn't her first funeral and she knew from experience that she needed to surround herself with human beings if she wanted to get through the day – and besides, she needed to eat.

When she made it back to her hotel room in the early evening, she called her home for a few minutes to check in and collapsed on the bed.

A couple hours later, the unmistakeable rap of wood against wood stirred her from slumber.

Surely enough, House was standing there when she opened the door.


	5. Chapter Four

Hello everyone!

After that cliffhanger, I didn't want to keep you waiting for too long. I really hope you'll like this chapter!

Thank you for your feedback. Please don't hesitate to leave a review on your way out!

* * *

 **Chapter Four  
**

* * *

Knowing his skills for deductions, she had no doubt that it hadn't taken him long to find her.

They looked at each other, and when their eyes met she felt her heart try to burst through her ribcage.

His stubble was thicker than she remembered. His hair just as mussed. His eyes just as blue.

He was wearing his black coat with the one mismatched button. Underneath that, she could discern a dark grey blazer and a blue shirt. If she'd been able to tear her eyes from his blue stare, she would have seen his traditional jeans and sneakers.

The seconds dragged on and they both looked down, somehow comfortable and awkward at the same time ; she accepted him here, even if she had good reason to send him away.

"Hi," he whispered, which was the logical first step. She hadn't heard his voice in over a year and it rattled her, but it also grounded her; just like that, he'd broken the ice.

She leaned against the door jamb with a sigh. "I shouldn't let you in."

She had had a restraining order against him, after all. And, again, even if she didn't want to send him away, him standing in the hallway of a hotel was miles away from him being in the same, small room as her.

But as she said this, they both knew that he would be inside the room in a moment.

"I needed to see you," he replied. "I couldn't stay away."

She closed her eyes in resignation. The feeling was mutual. She'd felt drawn to him the second she'd seen him in the distance.

"I'm not here to beg for your forgiveness," he continued. "I know I don't deserve it."

"Who said I was going to forgive you?" she asked as she stepped back inside. He followed her cue and shut the door behind him.

Cuddy sat on the bed against the headboard, folding her legs against her chest. He looked around for a place to sit and found a chair by the television.

They observed each other silently.

"How was the service?" he asked eventually.

"It was…" She struggled for words. "A funeral," was that she settled on. "His ex-wives were there. A lot of people from the hospital. You must have seen them."

"Yeah." There was a pause. "Thank you," he added, quieter this time. "For being here today."

Only a handful of people knew he wasn't dead, and for this reason he had only been able to attend the funeral from afar – something he regretted.

"I should thank you," she replied, much to his surprise. "I didn't want him to go through this alone."

He shook his head. "He didn't."

"Was the trip his idea or yours?"

He smirked. "Little bit of both. He had fun."

"You know," she continued. "I regret not being there for him. I just…"

"I know. The gimpy elephant in the room. He didn't hold it against you," he reassured her.

"Still." She had a small smile. "Do you remember how many times he covered for your crazy ideas?"

He had a small smile, too. "When he came to your birthday dinner."

"And you drugged him. Remember when he was dating Amber and I had to supervise the time he spent with her and the time he spent with you?"

"I remember that."

"When Wilson got a cat and you felt guilty because he was the one single and not you."

"Yeah. When you were interviewing sperm donors and you asked him."

"You tested me for cancer." They were silent for a few seconds, basking in their shared memories. They had been floating in and out of her mind all day, and she was relieved that she could talk to the one person who shared them. "He really was supportive of us getting together."

"He wouldn't buy it when we did, though."

She laughed a little. "God, a kiss wouldn't cut it. I had to grab your balls in front of him."

"Well, he had kissed his great-aunt more passionately, to be fair."

She smiled. "Obviously he had to break in when we spent that day holed up at your place. It just couldn't happen without him."

"You meddled, too, after he lost Amber," he added, softer this time. "You wanted us to be friends again."

"Yeah." Then, after a few seconds, "I missed us three, no matter how much I hated you."

House looked down. "I'm sorry I drove you away," he muttered after a while. Cuddy held up her hand, trying to stop her tears.

They were silent once again. He decided to change the subject before their grief overwhelmed them both – he could see her eyes glisten with the beginning of tears.

"You reacted less explosively than I thought," he told her.

"Because the last time I saw you you drove your car through my dining room?"

"There's that. Also because I'm dead."

She had a small smile at his blunt response, in spite of herself. "Foreman let it slip. I didn't know until this morning. Wilson never told me."

"I know."

"Was it your idea?"

"Not telling you? Yeah."

"Why?" _Even Foreman knew, for God's sake._

He looked down at his shoes. "I wanted you to be free from me."

She was stunned. She didn't say anything and neither did he. When the shock wore off, she let out a snicker.

"Free from you? I _mourned_ you." _You turned my world upside down again_ , she wanted to add. _I went looking for our son._

But it was not how she wanted to tell him. She'd made her decision when she saw him earlier that day. She _was_ going to tell him.

He looked up. _That_ had been unexpected. "Thought you hated me."

"Yeah, me too. Surprise!" she snarked, swallowing hard to ward off her tears. "You've got some explaining to do."

"Wanna know how I did it? It was pretty clever." She cast him an annoyed look – something she hadn't done in a long time. The familiarity of it touched them both. "I was going back to prison," he explained quietly. "For six months."

She filled in the blanks. "Wilson didn't have six months."

He nodded, and looked down again.

"You're… fucked," she blurted out. He had a brief smile at her spontaneous words. "You're going back to prison if you're caught."

"Yeah."

"Thank you."

He looked up, surprised.

"What the hell for?"

"You sacrificed yourself so he wouldn't die alone. I never had the guts to see him again because of you. Even when he told me about the cancer. One of my closest friends had cancer and I never visited him. Somehow I hadn't realised before how much of our friendship was about you."

He rolled his eyes. "Christ, stop beating yourself up about it," he said quietly. "The world doesn't revolve around you."

"It's so you, you know? You act like an ass, like you don't care about anyone, but then you do those grand, selfless gestures that no one else would dare," she continued. "Like when you told me you chose me over being a good doctor. I was worth people dying."

She stared into his eyes for a moment, and he looked away again. "Yeah, I said that," he muttered.

"How do you get by?" she asked. "You can't… work, or have a bank account. Rent an apartment."

"Fake IDs can get you a long way," he replied with a discreet smile. "That and Wilson kept some of my stuff in storage. Left me some cash, too."

"But in the long run? Medicine? The puzzles?"

"Well, like you said, I'm fucked. If I ever get caught…" He fell silent, looked down again. "It's not worth it anymore," he muttered.

She frowned.

And then it all made sense: why he'd come to see her even though he wanted her 'to be free from him', even though he knew there was no hope of getting back together – he hadn't even tried to make a move or made a lewd comment or asked her if she had a boyfriend, him who had been never been able to refrain the impulse in the past, him who was so curious, obsessively so when it came to her.

Her heart sank.

"Don't do this," she said. House looked up at her. Her heart pounded with fear and she stood up, though not getting any closer to him. She couldn't live in a world without him again. "I mourned you, you son of a bitch. Don't do this to me again."

He averted his eyes from hers. "Wilson's gone, Cuddy. There's nothing left for me. It had always been part of the plan."

"We have a son."

The words escaped her – but they also didn't. She didn't regret them.

House stared at her as his jaw dropped. She'd rarely seen him so confused. She just stood there, waiting for him to process the news. His silence was deafening. She couldn't read his face – couldn't tell if he was happy, sad, angry. His features were frozen in pure shock.

"What, from two years ago?" he asked with a frown. "But last time I saw you was months after we last… I would have known. Besides you can't –"

"From Michigan," she cut him off, knowing she'd just admitted to lying to him for twenty years – well, omitting the truth, which in House logic wasn't lying.

"You're fucking with me."

"I'm not."

She wouldn't make up something this big, and he knew it.

"Wh… How old is he?"

"He's twenty-four. He was born on the 6th of February, 1988."

A few seconds ticked by. She wanted to get closer to him, but he just sat there with a frown on his face. She wasn't sure if he were angry or upset with her or just trying to wrap his mind around the news.

"And after all we've been through, all this time, you never told me?" he asked eventually, his neck getting red. "You knew and didn't say anything? We were in a relationship and you just thought you'd never _mention_ it? If I hadn't come see you, I never would have known? And you're telling me _now_? What, if I meet him, suddenly I'll have a reason to live?"

She shook her head. "No! It's not that!" She opened her mouth but words failed her, so she sat on the edge of the bed and tried to gather her thoughts. "I abandoned him, House. He was never a part of my life. I didn't… raise him and keep you in the dark about him!"

"You _had_ him!" he accused. " _My_ son and you never told me!"

Tears rushed to her eyes.

She'd known it wouldn't be easy. The anger and confusion, she'd expected. But House calling Shaun _his_ son – that was a surprise. Even she avoided that term when she thought of him – she had left him behind and it didn't seem fair to call him her son and herself his mother. She'd surprised herself at the Murphys' when she had called him her son, too.

"Are you in touch with him? How long were you gonna hide him from me?"

"I wasn't gonna…" She pursed her lips. "After you died, I wanted to see him. I was in Ann Arbor of all places when Wilson called me. I, uh… followed his adoptive parents' trail, from the foster care records. Something happened and they're not in touch with him anymore. It was a dead end. I didn't find him."

Her voice broke over those last words. They revived a pain she'd buried somewhere and fooled herself into thinking she'd dealt with. And the guy could read her like an open book.

"So you want my help finding him?" he asked, softer this time.

She shook her head. "I don't know. This search for him, it was a kind of… moment of madness. When I went back home to Rachel and David, there didn't seem to be a point anymore. But when I saw you this morning…"

She sighed. House was looking down. She moved to the edge of the bed facing him and surprised both of them by taking his hands.

"I knew I had to tell you. Now that you said you have nothing to live for, I just… You _do_."

House glanced up at her.

"It doesn't matter what you do with this news," she continued. "Either you want to help me find him, to meet him, or you don't. But… You have a son, out there somewhere. Isn't that reason enough?"

He didn't answer. Cuddy knew he was coming to a decision, so she kept holding his hands in silence, rubbing her thumb against his just like old times.

Their son had been born out of love. No matter what had happened between them since. Back when they worked together, she'd sometimes think about it, observing him from afar. She felt it had made their bond indestructible. If they ever stopped loving each other, there would always be proof out there that it had happened. They would always be linked to each other.

It was what she saw in his eyes when he looked up at her again.

"Tell me about him, Cuddy."

She beamed.

She'd dreamt of this moment.

"I have pictures."

He nodded.

She couldn't get to her purse fast enough.

She sat back down across from him. He removed his coat and made himself more comfortable, and she opened her wallet and pulled out a few photographs that she'd hidden beneath receipts and business cards.

"Jesus, it's you," he blurted when he saw the picture of him as a newborn.

She grinned. "It's you I saw, the first time I saw him."

He pictured her, twenty years old, having just given birth, and it moved him more than he expected. Then wondered if she'd ever seen him at all.

"That first time, was it…?"

She nodded. "I'd just given birth through a C-section."

He frowned. "Were you alone?" As brave as she was, he didn't want her to have been through that on her own.

"Julia was there."

He raised his eyebrows. "Who else knew?"

She smirked, knowing what his reaction would be. "My mom and dad."

He opened his eyes wide, causing her to snicker. "Arlene?!"

"Yeah. But only Julia knows it was you."

"And neither of them let it slip in front of me." She shook her head. "I never saw your scar," he pointed out.

"Yeah, it's buried deep beneath the bush."

They chuckled. He looked down at her pubis and she knew he was fighting the impulse to touch her.

"Is that why you can't… Why IVF didn't work?" he asked softly. "It went wrong?"

God, the man had a way of being forward, she thought.

She took a deep breath and nodded.

"The pregnancy, in med school. What was it like?"

"Difficult," she answered with a brief chuckle. "My mom found out when I came back home for summer. Since you had disappeared, she wanted me to have an abortion. So I packed my things and went back to Ann Arbor. I enrolled in summer classes. The morning sickness was bad but I planned my classes around that. Then I was getting tired, I couldn't study, tidy up my room, get groceries, go to class or the library all at the same time so my friends helped, but I still flunked my midterms. Julia came to help a couple weeks before I was due. She drove me to the hospital and she stuck around for a while."

He looked down. "You went through all this alone."

She squeezed his arm. "I'm the one who does guilt, you moron." He smirked. She looked into his eyes when she assured him, " _I_ decided to keep him when I left my parents' place and went back to Michigan. And I don't regret my decision. I never did."

"I should have called," he insisted, before something dawned on him. "That's why you ran away from the eighties party."

She chuckled. "Yes."

"Wasn't your marriage in 87?"

Of course he would remember that. She hadn't gotten to explain to him when he had found out – hadn't wanted to, either. "Mom tried to marry me off to a family friend. I wasn't a fan of the idea to begin with, but the guy wasn't that bad and I just wanted her off my back. But once I was _actually_ married… My dad helped me get it annulled."

"Go, Mr. Cuddy." She laughed. House took a good look at the picture again and handed it back to her. "Show me the others."

She handed him the next one from the small stack. Shaun was a bit older on this one, in the arms of his adoptive mother.

"He was adopted shortly," he said, and it seemed to be a relief for him. House took his time to look at it and asked for another. "His first birthday," he deduced. Cuddy nodded. "Where did you get those?"

"They were in the records."

There was another picture of Shaun seemingly taking his first steps.

"I feel like we're flipping through our family's photo album," she said without really thinking about it.

"That's all there is?" he asked with a concerned frown.

"Yeah. They stopped sending news after a while."

"What's his name?" he asked eventually. "Did you choose it?" She smiled.

"Shaun. Shaun Murphy. And I didn't."

"Shaun," he repeated softly, like she had when she'd first heard her son's name. "So you first went to get the records, I assume," he said, retracing her steps.

"Yes. I was emailed those pictures, pediatrician's visits, this kind of thing, along with the parents' address in Wyoming. They didn't live there anymore but I met their neighbor, who told me a bit about them, and she gave me their new address in South Dakota. So I went."

She gulped. Tears rushed to her eyes again. The memories that she'd buried flooded her before she could stop them.

"What'd they do?" he asked with an anger that wasn't directed at her. His words grounded her.

"The… Mr Murphy grabbed me and threw me off his property. They told me they never wanted to see me again. They called him a freak and told me he was dead to them."

She covered her eyes with her hand. House rubbed her arm gently. "God, Cuddy." She knew he wanted to know what had happened, but he gave her a minute to put herself back together. "What did the neighbor tell you?"

His hand slipped from her arm to her hand, which she clasped. "They had a biological son, younger than Shaun. He died and they're blaming Shaun for it, but I don't know why."

He scoffed with disgust. "What kind of twisted bastard blames their son for their sibling's death?"

He turned back to her when she didn't respond. She bit her lip. "He's autistic. The neighbor told me they…" She took a deep breath. "They were abusive."

She saw him shake as the colour drained from his face. She had to avert her eyes from him – her guilt and shame assailing her again. But this time he didn't try to make her feel better.

House stood up and began to pace around. She remained where she was.

"You left him in the care of those monsters and you didn't even bother to find out earlier what had happened to him," he said coldly, his back turned to her.

She whirled around. He didn't move or say anything, so she rose and stood behind him. "At least have the decency to look at me when you say horrible things like that!"

He turned around and gave her an angry glare that made her flinch. "None of this would have happened if you hadn't given him up!"

"Me? Where were _you_ , you son of a bitch?" she yelled, fury coursing through her veins. "Where were you when I left home and I flunked my midterms? Where were you when I almost died giving birth to _your_ son? Where were you when I signed away my parental rights?" she accused, taking a step towards him at each sentence – and him taking a step back. " _You_ were getting expelled for dumb, selfish crap! _You_ fucked me and never called me back! _You_ were blissfully unaware all those years while I _mourned_ him every day!"

"Exactly, blissfully unaware! Maybe we could have intervened sooner if you hadn't kept this a secret for twenty years!"

"Excuse me for not wanting to burden you with your son when you were too busy getting high and fucking prostitutes and destroying yourself!"

"Maybe you could have learned to fucking let go instead of trying to micro-manage everyone around you! If you weren't so anal maybe he'd be better adjusted!"

Her jaw dropped.

He regretted his words the second they left his mouth, and now they hung between them.

He was reminded of that fateful night all those years ago, when she'd just lost yet another child and he'd hurled horrible things at her.

Her eyes, bare enough so that all he could see was her pain, filled with tears.

Driven by the need to fix his mistake any way he could, to tell her everything he felt for her instead of those cruel, false words, he bowed and pressed his lips against hers.

Just like that fateful night, she didn't push him away but instead welcomed his kiss, instantly wrapping her arms around his neck. She raised herself on her tiptoes and he pressed her tightly against him. Her tears tainted their kiss as their lips parted and she let his tongue into her mouth. His kiss was so familiar, yet intoxicating and hot, gentle and tender at the same time. It rekindled a passion she thought was long gone.

Before she knew it, she'd slipped her hands underneath his shirt, clutching at his tee-shirt. He gently pushed her towards the bed, his hand cupping the back of her thigh under her black dress. The feeling of the back of her knees bumping into the mattress jolted her into reality.

She was _kissing_ House in a hotel room while she had a boyfriend at home.

She pulled away abruptly, letting go of him without pushing him away.

"Cuddy," he whispered softly, and she refused to look at him. She knew what she would see, and it would break her. The sounds of their hectic breathings filled the room for a minute. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean it."

She looked up at him in surprise. She could count on one hand the number of times she'd heard him say those words.

"I meant to kiss you," he corrected himself. "My words… I didn't mean those."

"I know," she whispered. "I understand your reaction. And I… I wish I could have prevented it…" Her voice trailed off, but she pushed through. "Every day it's in the back of my mind and I keep imagining all the ways I could have kept him with me instead of…"

"I know," he shushed her, rubbing the small of her back. "Cuddy, I know. It wasn't your fault."

She pressed her forehead against his. "Not knowing where he is, what happened to him, it's killing me. And it's been an emotional night," she continued. "Day, even. So…"

"Yeah."

"We both lost someone." She caressed his cheek. "I am _sorry_ about your friend, House."

He was touched beyond words, so he held her in his arms instead.

When they'd pulled away and dried their tears, she saw a thin ray of light on his face and realised they were standing in front of the window.

"What time is it?" she muttered as she parted the curtains. "Damn, is it morning already?"

It was, in fact, daytime. She could see the timid beginning of rush hour down the street. She'd spent the entire night talking to House and hadn't noticed.

"Do you have to leave?" She nodded. "'Want to get breakfast?"

She hesitated. Was this another moment of madness?

"I don't know."

"That's fair," he said. She had a small smile.

"You're different," she noted. "You apologize. You take no for an answer."

He looked down. "Well, watching your best friend die…"

She touched his arm comfortingly. "I didn't see you take Vicodin," she added.

"I'm off it. Ibuprofen was easier to get my hands on during the trip."

Cuddy nodded. "Good for you."

They looked at each other.

"I want to brush my teeth," she whispered as she moved past him. He watched her go to the bathroom and sat on the bed, waiting for her. She came back after a few minutes and sat beside him.

"'You driving?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"You should take a nap first." She nodded. "Mind if I ask where you live?" She turned to him with a small smile. "I promise I won't show up on your door step, but just tell me the state if you prefer."

She rolled her eyes. "D.C."

"Ah." She nodded. "Walter Reed?"

"George Washington University Hospital," she replied. "Head of endocrinology." He arched an eyebrow. "When I left Princeton, a bunch of hospitals in the tri-state wanted me as their administrator. But I wanted to have patients again."

"Good for you." She smiled. "How's Rachel?"

"She's great. She's almost 4. She still loves pirates."

He grinned. "Was she upset about the move?"

"No. I kept her in the dark as to why."

He nodded, and hung his head low.

"I'm not proud of what I did," he whispered.

"You shouldn't be."

"I _am_ sorry. Not that I want to give you any ideas," he added. "but Wilson got over it by punching me in the nose."

She smiled briefly. "Right."

They remained silent for a moment, and he knew it was time to leave.

"I'll find him, Cuddy," he whispered. She turned to him and nodded through the beginning of her tears.

"Thank you, House."

"Just so you know, this isn't me making up for anything. He deserves to meet you."

She smiled. "The Murphys never told him about us, you know. If you do find him, he won't be expecting you."

"I don't care."

"Will you keep me updated? I'll give you my cell number."

"Okay."

She wrote it down on the stationary the hotel provided on the desk, along with the addresses in Casper and Harrisburg, folded the piece of paper and handed it to him. On a second thought, she handed him the photos. "Take one."

He chose the one where Shaun was taking his first steps, looked at it with a smile, and slipped it into the inner pocket of his blazer. He rose, and they looked at each other for a second before wrapping their arms around each other.

She exhaled deeply. "I feel so much better now that you know." He rubbed her back. "Where are you staying?" she asked. "Are you safe?"

"I'm fine. Don't worry about me." He cupped her cheeks and kissed her on the forehead. "Drive safely."

He turned around one last time before he closed the door of her hotel room.


	6. Chapter Five

Hello! Thank you for your patience. Here is the next update!

Now since I'm not American, I had to do a little bit of research for that one, but I kept it light. So maybe you'll find that, I don't know, it's impossible for complete strangers to look up high school yearbooks from ten years back (what _is_ a yearbook anyway?). I took some liberties with TGD canon, too. Sorry for the inaccuracies.

Thank you for your reviews. As always, please don't hesitate to let me know what you think :)

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

* * *

House sat behind the wheel of his old Dodge – Wilson had kept it for him, although he'd offered to buy him a newer, safer car, which House had refused – and drove to the motel in the outskirts of Trenton, where he'd been staying the last few days. He'd told Cuddy to take a nap, and he would follow his own advice.

The week before Wilson died, sleep had been scarce; they had returned to New Jersey and he'd tended to him the best he could, since Wilson had wanted to die anywhere but in a hospital. When he physically needed to sleep, he would set alarms every ninety minutes – one sleep cycle – for fear that his friend passed away while he was asleep.

After that, he had been too overcome with grief to catch a blink of sleep. So he'd stayed awake until the funeral, after which he would have set in motion the last part of his plan that Wilson hadn't known about.

He was well aware that if Cuddy hadn't seen him outside the synagogue, he'd be dead by now.

He had known that she would attend the funeral. Wilson had been discreet about it, but he knew that they'd kept in touch, that it was her Wilson called when he sent him away for privacy, her that he sent postcards to – who else? Since the rest of PPTH would attend, too, he'd had no choice but to stay away, only daring to get closer to the synagogue once everybody was inside. He hadn't even hoped to catch a glimpse of the back of her head.

Her bursting out of the building had caught his attention. He'd recognised her immediately, from the way she walked. Then, he'd seen her look in his direction, frozen in place.

That he could take one last, good look at her, had been an unexpected blessing. He hadn't wanted her to be part of the short list of people to whom he'd hinted that he wasn't dead, because he thought she deserved to move on. His presence in her life had brought her nothing but pain, culminating with him driving his car into her dining-room and forcing her to leave everything behind overnight. It was best that she believed him dead and buried, unable to hurt her ever again.

But the fact that she had simply looked at him, and not called the cops, and that just like him she was mourning Wilson alone… He'd been drawn to her again. He _needed_ to see her again. He hadn't realised how badly he'd missed her until the second he'd caught a glimpse of her.

He knew she would sit shiva with Wilson's relatives, and so he'd waited until nightfall to find her hotel, which had been easy. The funeral was short notice, so she'd booked a room in the first hotel that was all the way across town from PPTH – she wouldn't want the memories or the risk to run into old acquaintances.

He'd come to her with no expectations, save for having the door slammed in his face. He didn't even deserve her giving him the time of day, but he'd risked it anyway. His suicide was hours away; he'd had nothing to lose. He wasn't a religious man, but it meant something to him that he at least tried to apologise to her before he offed himself.

He hadn't been surprised by how quickly and easily familiarity had returned between them. It had always been this way.

Everything that had followed – his mind was still reeling. That she'd let him inside and talked to him for hours, told him about their son, kissed him…

Lying on the bed, he reached into the pocket of his blazer and pulled out the picture of Shaun. He felt he knew his face by heart, given the time he'd spent on the photographs in Cuddy's room, but he wanted to look at it again.

He'd always refused fatherhood, for a lot of reasons: a miserable, crippled drug-addict should not be responsible for kids – responsible for a potted plant even, would be pushing it. Especially a miserable, crippled drug-addict who might just be as abusive as his own father. For this reason he'd never even entertained the idea, except with Rachel; but maybe it was because he had known Cuddy was never going to let him get close enough.

That Shaun was in his twenties certainly helped him deal with the news. He was a grown man who didn't need to be cared for. The chances of him screwing up his son were therefore limited.

He had to face it – he'd wanted to meet him as soon as Cuddy had told him about him. Not because he was his son, but because he was Cuddy's.

A human being that was half Cuddy… Come on. He was bound to be curious.

He'd made the decision to look for him when he'd seen Cuddy's pain.

She'd been carrying that burden for far too long. He'd been blissfully unaware for over twenty years, but she had missed her child every day. He couldn't even wrap his mind around how awful it must have been for her, how heartbroken she must have been.

Maybe, contrary to what he'd said, he was unconsciously trying to make up for all the horrible things he'd said and done to her. But it hadn't been on his mind when he'd made the decision. Cuddy was in pain and he wanted to fix it. It was as simple as that.

He unfolded the piece of paper that Cuddy had given him and read the addresses.

He settled more comfortably in bed and closed his eyes.

He had a very long drive ahead of him.

* * *

Waiting was hell.

Realistically, Cuddy knew it would take him time, even though she trusted his deduction skills blindly. He _would_ find Shaun, regardless of how long it would take.

Still, when she finally pulled into her driveway that afternoon and checked her phone, she was almost disappointed that he hadn't called or texted her.

She had the day off; she took another nap before picking up Rachel from school, thinking she would once again be able to put it all behind her.

Days passed.

Who was she kidding – she'd kissed the one man whom she'd loved since she first met him, whom she thought was dead. She couldn't get him out of her head. Never had been able to. There was no putting _that_ behind her. Still, he didn't call her, he didn't text her. She'd discretely glance at her phone during meetings or consults, unable to stop herself.

Sometimes she feared that he was not looking at all. Or worse – that he'd changed his mind and killed himself. But she'd seen the determination in his eyes when he had left her hotel room and she held on to that. Still, it wasn't enough. Worse than missing him: she wanted to see her son. She knew she would, in the very near future. But when?

She was distracted. She could maintain enough attention when she taught a class or when she saw her patients, but in staff meetings her mind was elsewhere. She drifted during conversations with her colleagues or with David, or when she played with Rachel.

She still hadn't told either of them, and she wouldn't. Not until she had seen her son with her own eyes and talked with him. She hadn't told her sister: Julia had been so relieved to hear of House's death. What would she say if she found out not only that he was still alive, but that she had seen him – and kissed him, God – and entrusted him with finding their child? Wilson was not a phone call away anymore, and she missed her friend dearly.

The only one she could talk to hadn't given her any news yet. She regretted not asking for his cell number. She'd be able to call him and at the very least hear him on his voicemail, get some reprieve.

David could tell how distracted she was. She'd just lost her friend, so he sympathised. He took on more chores, helped with Rachel more. When they tried to have sex and she pushed him away eventually, claiming she wasn't in the mood, he didn't blame her.

Little did he know she couldn't stand having sex with anyone that wasn't House. She kept seeing his face when she closed her eyes. When she opened them again and saw David's, it turned her right off.

And she knew his patience would run thin.

One day, it did. She'd shaken her head, said sorry, slithered from underneath him. David sighed and sat up on his side of the bed. She reached for the bottle of lotion on her bedside table.

"Lisa, I can tell something's wrong."

"I'm fine." She squeezed lotion into her hands and began lathering her leg with it.

He shook his head. "No, you're not. You're not talking to me!"

"Maybe I don't have anything to say." He didn't reply so she turned to him. "I just lost my friend. I need more time."

"You're elsewhere, all the time. You don't talk to me, you don't talk to your sister. You don't trust me!"

"It's not that!"

"It's been two weeks! You hadn't seen the guy in over a year!"

She glared at him.

"Something's wrong," he insisted.

And she had no desire to tell him.

"I have nothing to say to you, David."

She watched her boyfriend nod sullenly and, after a few seconds of consideration, grab his pillow and leave the room. He gave her a resentful look before he shut the door.

She sighed with a relief that was short-lived. The son of a bitch _really_ needed to call soon.

* * *

It took House five days to drive to Casper, Wyoming. He'd dutifully driven under the speed limit, no matter how eager he was to get there. He couldn't risk being pulled over and arrested, which was also why he hadn't tried to board a plane with his fake ID.

He was careful to take breaks and to eat actual meals, sleeping in reasonably decent motels. Whenever he wasn't driving, he'd look at Shaun's picture and fight the impulse to call Cuddy. He didn't have any news yet and he didn't want to get her hopes up. Besides, she'd mentioned a David that must be her new boyfriend – he didn't want to intrude on them.

He'd only call her if he had a solid lead.

One thing he was sure of – he wouldn't go ahead and meet Shaun without her.

But that didn't mean he didn't miss her. Talking to her, holding her, kissing her again, only to be thousands of miles apart so soon after… He needed to have a solid lead _soon_.

He arrived in Casper in the early afternoon. Tired, he booked a room in the first hotel he saw, wondering if Cuddy had slept there, too. He wondered if her boyfriend had been with her, though he knew it likely wouldn't have been the case. Cuddy was too private a person for that. Maybe David didn't even know about that son, or her abusive ex-boyfriend who had driven his car into her dining room and gone to prison for it…

He chose not to dwell on that, and instead thought of their night in that hotel room in Princeton as he went to bed for a nap.

When he woke up, he decided to take a drive around town, get a feel of the place where his son had grown up. He wondered if Shaun had liked growing up in a small town in Wyoming, if he'd liked how close-knit it was, or if he couldn't wait to get out and live in a bigger, anonymous city. He drove past parks and wondered if Shaun had played there, restaurants and wondered if he had had a favourite place, schools and wondered which one he'd been to – but he figured he would find out soon enough. The hotel clerk had given him a map of the town, and House had marked down all the places he was going to hit up in search of any information: schools, hospitals, the police station as a very last resort. If he didn't find any records of either of the Murphy boys at school, Shaun's brother's death had to be somewhere.

He drove down Shaun's street and slowed down when he arrived in front of the house where he'd lived, just out of curiosity. He didn't bother talking to the neighbour; she'd told Cuddy everything she knew. Nothing that would help him locate his son.

He lingered for a few seconds, and eventually drove away. By then it was too late to try the schools, so he resumed his exploration of Casper, and grabbed some takeout that he ate in his hotel room.

House had kept his attention away from Wilson's death. Now that he was faced with how daunting finding Shaun was, he felt discouraged. What if he never did find him and never spoke to Cuddy again? Worse – what if he gathered enough courage to call her to let her know he'd failed and broke her heart again?

God, he wished he was still on Vicodin.

He turned the TV on and set the volume on low, focusing on happy memories of his road trip with his friend. He hadn't let Wilson know of his plans after his death, but his friend, always caring and worried about him, had occasionally given him tips on how to mourn. House would humour him for a minute, listen half-heartedly, and encourage him to shut the hell up and get another drink.

Their road trip was neither about cancer nor death. He was willing to listen to Wilson's tips if it comforted him, but not long enough to ruin the mood.

He'd never thought his tips would actually come in handy.

* * *

The following day, he drove to the pre-schools closest to the Murphy's former residence, and tried the primary schools when he left empty-handed, wishing he had Cuddy's or Wilson's natural charm. He acted polite enough not to give off any serial killer or child molester vibes when he showed the staff Shaun's picture, introducing himself as his uncle looking for old pictures or stories of his nephew for his upcoming wedding ceremony, but still. The staff was usually young enough that they had never crossed paths with Shaun, and when they might have, they were understandably wary of this tall, gruff man they had never seen in Casper before.

He went to a diner for lunch, observed the other patrons as he waited for his food. People in Casper seemed friendly, some of them greeting each other warmly as they entered the restaurant. He wondered if any of the elderly remembered the Murphys. Maybe it would be worth having a chat with them as a last resort – he didn't want to draw too much attention to himself.

The following days were spent exploring the middle schools and high schools. By that time, House was worried the Murphys had Shaun home-schooled and his search would be a dead-end. He drove to the adjoining towns and tried the schools there, too, in case the Murphys had wanted to hide their autistic son from their community.

In each high school, he looked at the yearbooks between 2004 and 2008. Eventually, he saw a picture of a young man with tousled black hair and blue eyes, and the face of a kid who _definitely_ doesn't want to have his picture taken.

He chuckled at how awkward his son looked and wondered if he had kept his yearbook. Discretely, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and took a picture. He would show it to Cuddy later.

* * *

David hadn't slept in their bedroom in a week.

They were mature and responsible enough to maintain the pretence of being a happy couple outside of their bedroom. Their routine hadn't changed one bit. They showered, got Rachel ready for school, ate breakfast, looked at their calendars and decided who would drive the kid and who would pick her up. At night, they shared a hearty, jovial dinner, read Rachel bedtime stories and put her to bed.

Then David would take his pillow from their bed and sleep in the spare room. Her heart sank every time. David was such a lovely guy. He was mature, funny, charming, kind, reliable, pretty good in bed. They had met at a fundraiser at her hospital and conversation had flowed easily, albeit he wasn't working in the medical field at all – he was a corporate lawyer. His angular features and smouldering brown eyes had helped, too.

They had gone on a few dates afterwards. He had met her mom and sister, who had approved of him. She had met his parents, who were thrilled that he had finally found a beautiful woman after years of celibacy – and with a charming young daughter, no less.

They were both attractive people, successful in their respective careers. They made sense together. He had moved in with her a few months after they had met.

But once David had left and she would turn off the light, in the silent darkness, her thoughts invariably turned to House, painfully aware that she had been in this situation before. She'd check one last time that he hadn't called or texted before turning her phone off for the night.

"Stay," she asked David one night. She had a nice, stable life. Her daughter loved him. She couldn't throw it all away.

David sat down on the bed, which she thought was a small victory.

"Are you going to talk to me?"

She shook her head, confused. "What do you want me to say?"

"What's on your mind. Tell me what's going with you."

"Nothing," she stammered. "The usual. Wilson. My mother."

David had a slight scoff.

"I'm not going to make up stuff that you think is wrong with me to make you happy!" she exclaimed before he could accuse her of not trusting him.

"Don't lie, Lisa."

He left the room again before she could.

* * *

For the past three days, House had been hunched over a table in the library, meticulously combing through the weekly issues of the local newspaper from 1994 to 2008. Fourteen years. Seven hundred and twenty-eight weeks. If he spent half an hour on a newspaper, it would take him three hundred and sixty-four hours. And if he spent six hours a day in the library, it would take him, without counting the days when the library closed… two months.

And he didn't even know if it would lead him to something useful.

It was Friday afternoon and he was hoping to find something about Shaun's brother's death before the weekend.

Looking at the hospital records turned out to be impossible. He didn't have any contacts in the area; besides, his arguments and good excuses wouldn't give him anything without a valid doctor's ID. He gave up before he'd set foot in any hospital lobbies.

But he'd figured that if the Murphys had blamed Shaun for his brother's death, it had had to be a tragic accident or something a lot worse. Either way, it was bound to be in the papers.

He was starting to get a headache. His leg felt stiff from having sat for so long. He took another ibuprofen pill, but knew that it wouldn't make a dent. Reluctantly, he put the newspaper back where he found it, and nodded to the librarian on his way out.

"Were you looking for something?" the old lady asked with a kind smile. "I have been seeing you looking through the old newspapers for the past three days. Maybe I can help you. Either that, or you have a burning interest for the life of the local community from twenty years ago, in which case you need to tell me all about that."

House smirked, admittedly smitten. "It's kind of far-fetched. I'm looking for a relative of mine. His brother died when he was a kid. I'm hoping to find out what happened to him after."

"Any idea when that was?"

"The nineties. Maybe the early two thousands. His name is Shaun Murphy."

"Oh, I remember the Murphys," she said calmly, unaware of how much of a good news it was to House. "Their youngest died in an accident, he came by here often."

House exhaled in relief. _It had only been an accident._

"Their oldest was put in the foster care system after that, but someone from around here took him in, thank God."

House could hear his own heartbeat. His palms felt clammy. "Do you remember who?"

"Oh, it was a doctor. A very nice man. He had his practice a few blocks from here. What was his name?"

She racked her brain for a few seconds, and gave House a name. He asked if he could use one of the computers.

* * *

Weary after a long day, Cuddy was gathering a few folders and putting them in her briefcase, standing behind her desk. The streetlights were casting an orange light from the window behind her, neutralised on her desk by her bright lamp.

"I'll see you tomorrow," said one of the endocrinologists working in her department as he strolled past the door.

"I'm not on shift tomorrow," she replied. "Be back on Monday."

"Is it Bennett's weekend already?"

"Yup."

"Urgh."

She smiled in spite of her exhaustion. In PPTH, she hadn't had those casual relationships with her colleagues, even if here in D.C. she was also their superior – the gossips, the meals and drinks between colleagues, the sense of community. In Princeton, she had been the boss, and everyone had respected her, feared her even. Except for House and Wilson. She had loved the authority and the responsibilities, but until she got the head of endocrinology job, she hadn't realised how isolated she had been.

Her administrator job belonged to a part of her life where she had been lonely and miserable, single and childless. Now that she had a family, she relished not having to pull long hours like she used to, though it happened occasionally. The job carried as many responsibilities, but it wasn't as stressful. Besides, she had missed patients. This new job was very different, yet as fulfilling as her previous position.

They were interrupted by her cell phone ringing. She didn't recognise the number but didn't pick up on it as she pressed the green button on her BlackBerry. Her colleague waved at her and left.

"Dr Cuddy speaking."

"What are you wearing?"

She gasped. "Have you found him?"

"Are you sitting down?"

" _House_ ," she admonished. She swore she could hear him smile.

"I found someone who'll know where he is."

She went to shut the door and sat back behind her desk. "How?"

"I drove to Casper," he explained. "I went through the schools. I thought the Murphys might have had Shaun home-schooled because of his autism, but at the very least I'd be able to find his brother. It took me a week, but I eventually found him in a yearbook."

"Please tell me you've got a copy."

He chuckled. "I took a picture on my phone. Do you want me to send it to you now?"

"No, you'll show me in person," she said after a brief hesitation.

He acquiesced and continued. "There was no follow-up address, so I went to the library to look at the old issues of the local newspaper, thought maybe I'd read about his brother's death."

"And?"

"Turns out the librarian remembered the Murphys. After his brother died, Shaun was briefly put in the foster care system again. I don't know why it wasn't in the records they sent you."

"Briefly?"

"He has another foster father. His name is Aaron Glassman."

"Okay," she acquiesced, committing to memory the name of a man who had been so important to Shaun.

"Now that guy was easier to look up. He's the president of Saint Bonaventure's Hospital in San Jose, California."

There was a second of silence where Cuddy took in how tangible the news was.

"I can fly out tomorrow. _Tonight_ ," she said as she reached for the mouse of her desktop.

House chuckled. "Not so fast, I'm driving. Give me two or three days."

"Monday, then."

"Okay. Cuddy, if you need an alibi… There's an endocrinology symposium in San Francisco next week."

That amused her. "You thought of everything, didn't you?"

"I'll pick you up at the airport in San Francisco."

"I'll let you know when." There was a peaceful pause where they listened to each other breathe. "Thank you, House," she whispered.

"I'll see you in a few days."

They hung up.

Cuddy leaned back in her chair, fighting tears of joy. She hastily wiped her eyes and booked a flight from Dulles to San Francisco on Monday morning, before quickly looking up the endocrinology symposium House had told her about. Then, she turned off her computer and left for the day.

She would call the hospital on Monday morning and claim a family emergency, she decided as she drove home. When she arrived and joined David in the kitchen, she wrapped her arms around his torso and leaned her forehead against his scapula. Even if they were technically in a fight, they hadn't lost their affection for each other.

"Bad news," she groaned, not knowing where she found the strength to hide how ecstatic she was. "I have to replace a colleague at a symposium in San Francisco next week."

He patted her hand comfortingly. "Rachel and I will hold down the fort, don't worry. When are you leaving?"

"Monday morning."

"Want me to drive you to Dulles?"

She shook her head. "It's an early flight. I'll get a taxi."

She almost felt bad for lying to the man who was cooking for her and taking care of her daughter.


	7. Chapter Six

Hello everyone!

This was originally two separate chapters, but I think it works better as one massive chapter... (especially since I won't be updating this fic, some would say, in the absolutely immediate future, because of finals etc)

Thank you for your patience and your feedback! In this chapter this fic finally becomes an actual crossover. It's my first time writing one. I hope you'll like it and find it realistic, in-character, etc.

Happy holidays, and I'll see you guys next year! ;p

* * *

 **Chapter Six**

* * *

Upon arriving at San Francisco International Airport, Cuddy walked briskly down the corridor that led to the conveyor belts, where she picked up her suitcase after a short wait. Her heart pounding in her chest, she walked through the arrival gates and immediately saw House waiting for her, his head sticking up behind the crowd of expecting friends and family members. Her breath caught. Without thinking about it, she marched straight to him and wrapped her arms around him. He embraced her right back – or maybe at the same time as her, she wasn't quite sure. It felt like they hadn't seen each other in ten years.

"Hi," he whispered into her hair. She felt her eyes well up with tears of relief. She was glad to see him again, glad that he had almost found their son. If Shaun was in San Jose too, she might be meeting him tomorrow… "How was your flight?" he asked as they pulled away.

"God, I thought we'd never arrive." He took a good look at her with a smile.

"Takes me back," he said as he pointed at her coat, the same one she'd worn when they had flown back from Malaysia. In turn, she ran her hand along the sleeve of his leather jacket.

"You did drive a _car_ here, right?" she asked, knowing he would be insane enough to ride his motorcycle across the country in December.

He nodded. "Too warm here for a winter coat, as you'll soon find out." He started moving in the direction of the exit and she followed him.

"Did you have anything to eat?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Let's make the drive to San Jose, then."

As he led her towards the parking lot, she texted David to let him know she'd landed safely and was now heading to her hotel. The second they were outside, Cuddy was surprised by how warm it was compared to back home, in D.C. The sun was caressing her face and it was only a few seconds before she unbuttoned her coat and unwrapped her lilac scarf from her neck, shoving it into the pocket where she'd stuffed her leather gloves.

House was parked near the entrance, but he didn't need to tell her which handicapped parking spot his car occupied. She recognized the blue Dodge right away.

She froze, remembering the deafening sounds of walls crumbling and furniture shattering in the other room. The front of his car stared back at her, like it did all those months ago after he'd handed her her hairbrush and left.

Surprised that she wasn't walking beside him anymore, House turned around. He understood what was wrong when he saw how pale she was.

"I'm an idiot," he said. It brought her attention to him.

"I thought it was wrecked. I… It's the same car? Right?" she asked. "You didn't buy the same old, beat-up car?"

"It's the same. Let's get a rental," he said. "Let me just get my bags."

"Okay."

They made their way back to the terminal without a word. They tucked her suitcase, his backpack and his duffel bag into the trunk of their rental car, and headed to San Jose. House drove them down the Bayshore Freeway, along the San Francisco Bay. Cuddy looked out the window.

"I _am_ sorry," he said at one point.

"I know."

But it would take more than that to earn her forgiveness.

He saw some early Christmas decorations here and there, grumbled about them the way he always did. "'You doing anything for Hanukkah?" he asked.

Cuddy turned to him, surprised. "Since when do you care about Hanukkah?"

"It's soon, isn't it?"

"Next week." He nodded. "David's more religious than I am," she answered eventually. "He wants to introduce Rachel to it. But I still want her to have Christmas."

"Your mom must be thrilled."

She chuckled softly. "At least she's not making the trip down to D.C."

Once they were in the city, he started driving around, looking for a hotel. House was wise enough to book them two separate rooms.

Hers was closer to the elevator. She opened the door and turned to him. "It's too late to go see Glassman this afternoon, isn't it?" He nodded. "Then I think I'm gonna get some rest."

"I'll see you tonight for dinner?"

"Okay." She was about to retreat into her room and he was about to go find his down the hall, but he spoke up again.

"I don't want it to hang between us," he said. "What I did."

She pursed her lips. "Me, neither."

"I think it would be best if we talked about it. Tonight."

Cuddy smiled faintly. "This might be the first time that you want to talk about our issues." He had a small smile, too. "I have to call home at 6. Be here at 6:30."

* * *

At 6:30 sharp, House knocked on her door. Cuddy opened almost immediately. "I'm just unpacking," she said, as though to apologise for the mess. "I don't know how long we're staying so I don't want to scatter my stuff."

He shut the door behind him and watched her organise the things she'd spread out on the bed, deciding what would go in the dresser and what could stay in the suitcase.

"'You hungry?" she asked as she tucked a couple of sweaters into a drawer. "We can get room service, maybe go outside."

"I can wait."

He sat on a corner of the bed, right next to her toiletry bag. The hairbrush sticking out of it caught his attention. Tortoise-shell handle, natural bristles…

"You kept it," he said as he held it in one hand, ran his thumb against the bristles in the other.

Cuddy leaned against the dresser. "It's a good brush," she replied meekly. But House was lost in his thoughts and she wasn't sure if he had heard her.

"You had left it on the shelves by the sink," he whispered. "I used to just… touch it. Smell the hair that was still stuck in the bristles."

"Did you keep it on purpose or did you forget to put it in the box with my other stuff?" she asked. "I always wondered."

He shrugged. "I don't remember. Freud says it's the same thing anyway."

Cuddy pursed her lips and sat next to him. "Hell, maybe I should have let you keep it."

He handed it back to her. She took it. "You wanted to move on," he answered.

"You didn't."

"There's no moving on from you." She inhaled sharply, surprised by the bluntness of his answer. "When you found me in the bathtub and you stuck around, I thought… I still had a chance. I was willing to do the adult thing, give you your stuff back and move on. But…" He sighed. "When you asked for your brush back, I realised I didn't want to. I was going to try and seduce you when I gave it back to you." He had a small smile at that, which she reciprocated without thinking about it. "And then I saw you and that guy, how quickly you had moved on. I do regret what I did," he assured her, turning to look straight into her eyes. "I was high as a kite, I had no idea what I was doing. You didn't deserve that."

She nodded thoughtfully. "How do you think I felt when you married your whore?" His features froze in shock. "I know all your antics were you being pissed at me and acting out. But that…" She chuckled mirthlessly. "That was a whole other level. That was vicious. If that didn't scream 'I'm moving on from you', then…"

She wiped off a tear that she didn't manage to hold back. He wanted to reach for her arm but didn't dare.

"Why did you do it, House?"

"I did it…"

His throat closed up. He was more moved than he thought by her pain. Their talk stirred up old memories that he'd dulled with Vicodin until then. Even at that time, he could only feel a vague, distant hurt that he'd successfully covered up with drugs, alcohol and prostitutes. Everything he had done, he had done without thinking of the consequences, only eager to make the pain stop.

"I was _high_ ," was his explanation, although he could admit it wasn't a very good excuse. "I wanted to stop hurting. I wanted to piss you off."

"I think you did it because you wanted to cheapen what you and I had," she continued softly, looking down at her feet. "You wanted to make it mean nothing. And if it meant nothing, then it didn't hurt."

"It did mean something, Cuddy." He took her hand and she didn't push him away. "It was everything."

"It wasn't everything for me and it should have been," she admitted. "I should have treated you better."

"No…"

"Yes," she insisted. "I was unfair to you. When I thought I had cancer, I wanted you to open up to my pain even though I knew what you had to endure with your leg, with everything else. You were as scared as me and I wanted you to be there for me even though you weren't equipped."

He looked down. She'd just admitted things he had never dared blame her for.

"I regretted my decision every day," she continued as she caressed his thumb with her own. "I was watching you destroy yourself and… I was still mad at you for not being there for me."

"You were upset. Understandably so. And you'd made your decision and were too proud to go back on it."

"And you were too proud to try and get me back."

"That, too."

They shared a small, timid smile. "I shouldn't have neglected your sobriety. You falling off the wagon, it was a big deal. I should have talked to you more. I should have given you a chance to explain yourself."

"I should have been there for you. You have every right to ask for a boyfriend who's there for you when you need it."

"I should have been there for you, too."

They looked into each other's eyes. Just like earlier at the airport, they simultaneously wrapped their arms around each other. They had always been on the same wavelength after all, always been able to know what the other was thinking without speaking. They held on to each other for a while, without a word, simply relishing the other's presence. It had been such a long time since they'd last held each other, she thought she could never have enough of it.

"I missed you," she said softly, her chin bobbing against the crook of his neck. "I still care about you, you ass."

He smiled at the endearing term – endearing for them, anyway. "Me, too," he said as he kissed the back of her neck, his nose buried in her curls.

A loud and sudden borborygmus caused them to laugh.

"Who was that?" Cuddy asked with a chuckle.

"It's you, you always had a loud stomach."

"Dinner out?" she asked.

"I'll go get my jacket."

* * *

As they were quite hungry, they decided to eat at the first diner they saw. They would take the time to explore the neighbourhood later.

"Want to see the yearbook picture?" he asked her after they had placed their order.

"Yes!" House pulled out his phone from his blazer, found the picture, and handed it to her. She looked at it for a long time with a moved smile.

"He really doesn't want to be there," she said with a chuckle.

"Send it to yourself," he suggested, which she did. By then the waitress had placed their plates in front of them – a salad for Cuddy and a burger with fries for House.

"Do you think we'll be able to see Shaun tomorrow?"

He shrugged. "He probably doesn't live around here."

"I don't know. I think he'd be pretty attached to that Glassman guy." She watched him take a big bite out of his burger, with the same faint disgust as before, but also with tenderness. "What do you know about him?"

"Just what was on the hospital's website. He's a surgeon. Glasses, beard. In his sixties. I think he has a kind face."

"Didn't think you knew what a kind face looked like," she cracked. He pretended to be offended. "Think he'll have time to see us?"

"I can be persuasive," he said with a wink. She chuckled.

"No barging in his office without knocking, House," she warned. "It only worked on me."

"I know."

They ate in companionable silence. Cuddy let her racing thoughts get the best of her while House ate as ravenously as he always did.

"I wonder…" She moved a slice of tomato around her plate. "How… bad his autism is. What he was like as a child. Do you remember the little boy you treated? He gave you his console."

"Yeah. I still have it."

"He could only scream. His parents were exhausted."

"We'll find out soon enough," he told her, trying to be reassuring.

"I keep thinking…" she continued. "I think you would have been great with him."

He snorted. "I don't know about that, Cuddy."

"You were the only one who'd been able to communicate with that boy."

"Yeah, sure. I showed him anesthesia was safe and I got him to tell me what he had eaten in his backyard. That's not parenting."

"He really liked you," she replied with a smile.

He stopped eating, knowing where this was coming from, and wiped his hand on a paper towel before he held hers. "We couldn't have kept him, Cuddy, even if I had stayed."

She looked up at him, surprised by his brutal honestly.

"I wouldn't have been able to care for him during my residency. There's just no time for a kid. And you wouldn't have let anything get in the way of you becoming a doctor. You wanted to eat the world back then. You needed it."

Her throat closed up. She lowered her head and nodded.

"I don't know if he would have been better off with us than with the Murphys, but we can't change the past."

She brought her other hand to her forehead and squeezed his.

"I wanted to keep him," she whispered. "But I was on my own. And…" She had a small chuckle. "Yeah, I wanted to be a doctor more than a mother."

"Don't beat yourself up for it."

"What if he hates me?" she asked softly as she looked up, afraid of the answer.

"You're his mother." But it wasn't enough to soothe her. "We'll deal with it," he assured her. And she believed him.

* * *

The following morning, they headed to Saint Bonaventure's hospital. Cuddy let House do the talking at the front desk when they asked to see Dr Glassman, knowing how persuasive he could be. However, she was ready to intervene if his rougher side took over his efforts to be polite. In a matter of minutes, they were told Dr Glassman was available for a few minutes and ready to see them.

They made their way up to the administrative floor. Cuddy started rubbing her moist palms against her pants when they were in the elevator. House turned to her with one eyebrow raised.

She smiled. She was glad she wasn't alone this time.

"I'm okay."

Glassman was waiting for them just outside his office. He looked just as House described him, Cuddy thought, kind face included. There was a warmth to him that must have endowed him with an excellent bedside manner, before he rose to the position of president of hospital.

They introduced themselves and Glassman led them inside. It wasn't until he was sitting behind his desk and House and Cuddy were in front of him, that she felt as timid as she did in front of Mrs Murphy. Dr Glassman had a kind and patient face, but she still felt like he could destroy her life with only the word 'no'.

She tried not to discourage herself.

"I was told you're here on a personal matter," Glassman spoke up with a smile. "Which frankly baffles me. What can I do for you?"

"I… don't know how to say this," Cuddy replied with a nervous chuckle.

"You fostered a teenage boy, Shaun Murphy," House intervened, always blunt and fearless. "We are his biological parents."

There was a heavy silence, during which Glassman alternated between staring at either's faces.

"Well, I'll be damned," he said with a touched grin. "You do look like him. Or, rather, he looks like you. How did you…?"

"Long story," House replied.

"Why now?"

"My, uh… Cuddy here…" he stammered.

"I started looking for Shaun after House faked his death, last year," she explained. Glassman raised his eyebrows. "I left Shaun behind a few days after I gave birth to him in Michigan and House wasn't around anymore then. I had no idea of what had happened to him, and even after House came to work for me years later, I didn't tell him, and I didn't look for Shaun. Then two weeks ago we ran into each other, I told him about Shaun, and he found out about you eventually."

"Right," was Glassman's answer.

"I want to thank you for taking him in after his brother's death," she continued. "I met the Murphys and… I'm glad you didn't let him go back with them. Or back in the system."

He nodded. "Me, too. He's a great kid."

"We're here because we want to meet him."

There was a pause. "That won't be possible."

Cuddy frowned. "Why not? If he doesn't live around here, we can absolutely –"

"Shaun has been through a lot. His parents were abusive. He ran away from home with his brother, who died in front of him. You have to understand, I'm not sure he processed all of that."

"But –"

"I understand how you must feel. But meeting Shaun is not a good idea. It would be a lot to deal with for him. He doesn't know about you. I didn't even know about you! Besides, I'm sure you're aware of his autism."

"And we understand how protective you feel of him," House cut in. "But he's our son."

"I'm sorry, but he's not. Not legally. If you truly want what's best for him, as all parents do, you will leave him alone."

"Can you at least tell us about him?" Cuddy insisted. "What does he like? What… what does he do for a living?"

"I don't see how that will help. Now I'm gonna have to ask you to leave."

"Please," Cuddy insisted, but House, much to her surprise, stood up when Glassman did. He rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder, so she decided to follow his lead. Still, she reached for the pad of sticky notes on Glassman's desk and grabbed one of his pens, scribbling her phone number. "If you change your mind, call me."

They nevertheless shook hands as they parted. Without a word, House led her to the elevators with a hand on the small of her back. The shock was only beginning to wane, and as they rode the elevator in silence she realised just how badly their meeting with Glassman had gone.

If he never changed his mind and called her back...

"Excuse me," she spoke up as she threaded her way out of the elevator before the doors closed. House followed her, and quickly understood why she had gotten off before the ground floor as she made a beeline to the bathroom.

"Want me inside with you?" he asked as she pulled the door open.

"No."

He leaned against the wall and watched the people around him, as he always did.

They were surrounded by patients' rooms. It was a hospital like he had seen hundreds before; doctors walking along the corridors, sometimes talking with colleagues, busy nurses tending to patients, frantic residents running around, patients wandering out of their rooms in a wheelchair or with their IV pole...

A senior doctor and his residents caught his eye. The doctor was a tall, dark-haired man with the arrogance of a surgeon. He was surrounded by three younger doctors; a tall black guy, a brunette who occasionally ran her hand through her curls, and a black-haired guy whose back he could only see, but he seemed to have his hands crossed on his chest, gently rocking back and forth.

"Holy shit," House muttered.

If he could just turn towards him...

He heard the door of the bathroom open. Cuddy emerged – he could always tell it was her – but he didn't look at her, captivated by Shaun. House knew she'd followed his gaze and understood when he heard her gasp.

They stared at their son in awe.

When the cluster of doctors walked away, Shaun turned in their direction for a fraction of a second, but it was long enough for them both to recognise the baby and the high school graduate on the pictures.

House saw in his peripheral vision Cuddy walk in their direction. He caught her wrist just in time.

"Cuddy, no." She turned to him in confusion. "It's not the right time."

Her brow furrowed further, and he understood why. It wasn't like him to do things at the right time. But realistically, what were they going to do? Come up to him in the middle of his work day and drop the whole biological parents bombshell on him?

She understood that, too.

Cuddy looked down. He noticed the slight redness of her eyes.

"Let's go back to the hotel," he suggested.

* * *

When Cuddy unlocked the door of her hotel room, House didn't ask her if she wanted him inside, and just followed her. She didn't protest – in fact, she hadn't said anything at all on the drive back – and headed straight to the bed, keeping her shoes and coat on, where she lay on her flank. There was enough room for him to lie down in front of her, so he kicked off his sneakers and joined her.

She didn't react when he did, and neither when he reached up and caressed her hair.

"Are you staying?" he asked.

"I have to get back home for Hanukkah," was her indecisive answer. If she wanted to keep her alibi, he thought she would have to fly back on Saturday at the latest.

They kept silent for a few minutes.

"Maybe he'll call you," he said softly. "I think we just caught him by surprise. But I'm sure he'll agree to talk to us about Shaun. It's clear he loves the kid."

Cuddy had a small smile. "Yeah, I don't think I would have reacted well if Rachel's grandparents just showed up on my doorstep and…"

He squeezed her hand. "At least we saw him. We know where he is."

She grinned and closed her eyes. Her smile was infectious. He wanted to kiss her forehead.

"He's a doctor," she said, not without pride.

"And a surgeon at that." She looked up at him. "That attending was definitely a surgeon. He was so smug."

She laughed.

* * *

They spent the day in her hotel room, ordering room service for lunch and dinner, chatting and enjoying each other's company, unofficially waiting for Glassman to call them back. He stepped out for a moment to let her call her family. When night fell, House retreated back to his room.

The following morning, he knocked on her door to ask her if she wanted to do anything for the day. She was already showered and dressed, and was about to answer him when they heard her cell phone ring from the nightstand.

"'Know the number?" he asked when she looked at the screen with a frown. She shook her head and picked up.

"Of course," Cuddy said after a few seconds as she turned to House with a giant grin on her face. "Just text me the address. We'll be there."

* * *

Glassman asked them to meet in an Italian restaurant for lunch, all the way across town from the hospital – a subterfuge Cuddy had used many times. It amused House and he told her so.

Glassman was already seated when they arrived. They shook hands, looked at the menu, and placed their order.

"Again, I am very sorry for my reaction yesterday," Glassman said as the waiter walked away.

"No need. I have an adopted daughter myself. I don't know if I would have reacted as well as you did," Cuddy replied with a chuckle.

"I do think Shaun should meet you," he assured them. "But it's a big news to take in. I want to wait until after the holiday season to talk to him."

House nodded. "He must be pretty busy with his residency, too."

"You saw him?" They acquiesced. "Did you talk to him?"

"No. How is it going?" House asked. "I don't expect everyone is understanding of his autism."

"No, it wasn't easy getting him on the team. But he's proven himself. He's amazing. He has a unique way of thinking, sees things that no one else sees."

Cuddy burst into a wide grin. House just rolled his eyes, knowing what was to come. "He gets that from his father," she said, a little boastful as she explained his gift to Glassman, who was amused. She went as far as to add examples of House's most brilliant diagnoses.

"Now tell us everything about Shaun," House intervened, eager to have the attention directed away from him.

As their orders arrived, Glassman told them about the first time he met Shaun and Steve, when they brought him Shaun's dead bunny and he asked if he had gone to heaven. Then later, when he saw Shaun in a police car after his brother had died, refusing to go back home. He told them about Shaun's fascination for the anatomy textbook he had given him, about their habit of having pancakes together for breakfast, of him taking in Shaun long enough for him to finish high school, and then on Shaun relying on their close-knit network of neighbours as he went through college and medical school, until his recent move to San Jose.

They showed each other the pictures of Shaun that they had. Glassman marvelled at baby Shaun. House and Cuddy marvelled at teenage and med school Shaun, captured on camera when he didn't know it.

Then it was their turn, and House let Cuddy do the talking about her pregnancy and her leaving her baby behind. She fast-forwarded to ten years later, only mentioning briefly House's infarction, which he was grateful for, when she hired him, and then much later when they eventually started dating.

"It didn't end well, to say the least," she concluded. "I had to leave Princeton and move to D.C. where I'm head of endocrinology."

Glassman nodded. House thought nothing would be asked from him, but then Glassman turned to him. "So why did you fake your death?"

"In April my best friend was diagnosed with a thymoma, with five months to live," he explained after a pause. "I was going back to prison for six months, so…"

"We reconnected at the funeral," Cuddy added.

"I'm sorry about your friend."

Cuddy took House's hand.

"Thank you," he whispered.

There was a brief silence. Glassman gave them a warm smile.

"It's obvious there's a lot of affection between you two," he said.

Cuddy had a chuckle. "Half of the hospital had a bet on when I would finally fire his ass."

"The other half had a bet on whether we were secretly having sex."

"'Affection' is not something we get very often."

They declined dessert, but indulged in a coffee.

"What are your plans?" Glassman asked. "Are you staying in the area?"

"I'm going back to D.C. to my daughter this weekend," Cuddy replied, then turned to House, curious as to what his answer was.

He shrugged. He couldn't follow her to D.C., on one hand because it was too long a drive, and on the other because she had a life. He didn't want to return to Princeton either, where nothing awaited him. "Sure, I'm staying."

"I'd like to get in touch in January, decide how we'll tell Shaun."

They exchanged addresses and phone numbers. When they parted outside the restaurant, Glassman waved at them.

"'You okay?" Cuddy asked House once Glassman had left. "I know you didn't necessarily want to talk about Wilson."

He nudged her towards their rental car. "Just sucks that he never knew about Shaun," he said. "Can you imagine his reaction?"

Cuddy grinned. As they reached the car, she realised that although she was happy to have met Glassman, that she _would_ be meeting her son in a month, she missed their friend dearly. He had been a part of their relationship for so long, sometimes she forgot where her love for House ended and where her love for Wilson began.

"'You wanna get out of here?" he asked teasingly, noticing her sudden grim mood.

"What do you have in mind?"

"'You ever visited San Fran?"

She smirked. "Once, with my dad, when we visited California. I don't think we even stayed a whole twenty-four hours."

"We've got until Saturday. Imagine the possibilities."

She bit her lip in a way he thought very enticing. "Let's go get our stuff."


	8. Chapter Seven

Hi everyone! I am very excited to present this chapter to you...

Now if I had time and money, I would have gone to San Francisco myself... So this is all from research on the Internet. Please forgive any inaccuracies.

Thank you so much for your feedback! I hope you will like this chapter as well. Let me know :)

* * *

 **Chapter Seven**

* * *

After they had returned to the hotel to pack their bags and check out of their rooms, House drove them up the Bayshore Freeway again. The weather was rather warm, so they opened both their windows and let the wind blow through. They turned the radio up, listened to songs from their college days. Giddy by the prospect of their short holiday, Cuddy forgot temporarily about her grief, and instead remembered why she was in California in the first place.

"He's just like you," she told House at some point.

"As if there was any doubt about my paternity." She laughed.

"I can't wait to meet him."

"Me, too."

They drove past the airport, and House kept going, all the way into the city.

"Are we going to find a hotel now?" Cuddy asked as the Golden Gate Bridge appeared in their vanishing point, flanked on either side by the skyline of San Francisco.

"Not yet."

He drove them across the Golden Gate. Cuddy alternated between looking at the International Orange cable overhead and the ocean outside her window, remembering how peaceful looking at the sea made her feel. The few boats were much smaller from her viewpoint than she would have thought. When she had been there with her dad, they hadn't crossed the bridge, only taking a handful of pictures from afar.

Once in Marin county, House turned the car around and they headed back to the city.

" _Now_ we find a hotel," he declared. They drove aimlessly for a while, until they found one that seemed comfortable. They parked the car, grabbed their bags, and walked into the lobby. Without thinking about it, Cuddy reached for his hand.

"Separate rooms?" he asked her. For a fraction of a second, she was confused – she had forgotten about her boyfriend and daughter in D.C., nothing else existed outside of her and House.

Then it all came back – House was dead on paper, no one knew about it. They had kissed in a hotel room two weeks before and she had put a stop to it.

"Yeah," she whispered.

There was no denying the tension and the tenderness between them. The anticipation of seeing Shaun soon and their unplanned holiday had put them in quite a good mood. If they slept in the same room, let alone the same bed…

"Let's get a suite," he decided.

She smiled. They would share a living space but each have their own bedroom. It was exactly what they needed. As unreasonable as she knew it would be to share a room, she didn't want to be separated from him, either.

They settled in their suite and sprawled on their shared couch to get some rest. When it was time for Cuddy to call her family, House retreated into his room to give her some privacy. As usual, David barely talked to her, which meant she didn't have to lie to him about her activities, but Rachel had her entire school day to tell her about. When she had hung up, House suggested they go for a bit of sight-seeing, although he wouldn't tell her where. So she let him drive to a park, and they took their time climbing up the hill – by then the sun was setting. Once at the top, Cuddy gasped.

"I was sure you wanted to see them," House said as he sat on the grass, stretching his leg. Cuddy took in for a minute the postcard view of the six colourful Victorian houses and the skyscrapers behind them, and sat beside him.

"How's the leg?"

He dry-swallowed a couple of ibuprofen pills. "Shut up and enjoy the view."

She laughed and rested her head on his shoulder. "Thank you."

They said nothing for a while, listening to each other breathe as the sky above them exploded in warm colours.

"Which one would you live in?" he asked.

"What makes you think I'd want to live in one of the painted ladies?"

He rolled his eyes. "How long have you known me?"

She smirked. "The one on the far right."

"I knew it," he muttered under his breath. She chuckled.

"You were here with Wilson," she said, remembering how he seemed to know the streets they had navigated in, as well as the Golden Gate Bridge postcard that Wilson had sent her.

He nodded. "We went to the filming locations of Vertigo."

She smiled, remembering he had the poster of the movie in his office. She'd always liked that personal touch, if you could call such a large piece of art a _touch_.

"I wish it could have been the three of us," she whispered. "Like before."

"He loved your phone calls, you know," he said as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

"I loved his postcards. I kept them all." She smiled. "I bought a map of the United States and I drew his – your itinerary. Rachel loved it."

"Did you tell her? About Wilson?"

"Yes."

"How did she react?"

"She was sad. Like a three-year-old. I don't know if she really remembered him."

"I'm sure she did."

They were silent for a while, both thinking of their past days in Princeton, with Wilson babysitting Rachel occasionally, or coming over for dinner. After Sam had broken up with him, he had been more available to spend time with them. Cuddy still let the boys hang out together from time to time, but she had wanted her friend to be part of her family, too.

"Did you tell her about what I did?" House asked tentatively, looking at the horizon.

Cuddy turned to him. This was a conversation they needed to have. She wasn't sure she had forgiven him, although her behaviour with him seemed to prove otherwise.

"No," she said softly. "Just that I had decided we should move away. She never saw the… wreckage, whatever you wanna call it."

"How did she take the move?"

"Not well at first, but kids adapt fast. She loves her new school, she loves David, too."

"Good," he said, barely above a whisper.

"I didn't tell her you were dead," Cuddy blurted out. House finally turned to her. "But I never did mention you again."

"Can't blame you for that."

"I know you loved her. And she loved you." She felt her throat tighten. "I didn't want to break her heart."

House turned away to hide his tears. Hurting Rachel had never been his intention. He _had_ wanted to hurt Cuddy that day, albeit not physically. He had wanted to show her how angry and disappointed he had been. He had wanted her to suffer as much as he had.

By then, Cuddy had pushed him out, not only of her life, but also of Rachel's. He had grown attached to the kid and had missed her, which he'd dulled with Vicodin, but had never thought Rachel missed him, too, until Wilson had read him the letter Rachel had written him after his surgery.

Still, after he had driven his car into Cuddy's dining room, he hadn't thought the kid would be affected by it, or by his absence. He had been too high for that. And he hated himself for it.

"I never wanted to hurt her," he muttered.

"I know."

He kept looking away, and she knew it was as far into the conversation as he was willing to go, for now. She patted her eyes dry.

"So where can one get a decent dinner around here?" she asked, eager to move on.

He smirked. "I know just the place."

"'You okay climbing down the hill?"

"I'm thinking I should just barrel roll my way to the car, actually."

She laughed.

* * *

The following day, he took her to Chinatown, which they explored all morning, then waited a ridiculous amount of time to get on a cable-car, much to Cuddy's delight, which took them to the Ferry Building Marketplace. They ate their way through the building for lunch, then went to Pier 39 to see the sea lions, and finally visited Fisherman's Wharf.

He loved watching her. She was more relaxed and carefree than usual; she wore jeans and let her hair curl. He had noticed that her hair had grown a little since he'd last seen her. He liked it.

When they got back to the car, Cuddy asked him to take them to Grace Cathedral, which she had caught a glimpse of when he had driven them to Chinatown earlier that day. She even persuaded him to go inside with her _and_ to go to Union Square together to see the Christmas decorations.

"Visiting a cathedral _and_ checking out Christmas decorations," House commented. "That has to be the most hypocritical thing we've ever done together."

Cuddy had just rolled her eyes, knowing he liked spending time with her anyway.

As they looked at the window shops, Cuddy set her eyes on a picturesque San Francisco snow globe for Rachel. She happily went inside to buy it – it would replace the stuffed buffalo she had seen in Wyoming and couldn't get.

"You're getting her a lie," House told her as she shook one of the globes on display. "It hasn't snowed in San Francisco in thirty years."

"Shut up, it's cute."

When they got back to their suite with takeout, she sprawled on the couch and stretched her legs. House did so as well, and took an ibuprofen pill.

It occurred to her that she hadn't been sore from a day of sight-seeing in years. Worse – it was her first holiday _ever_ with House. After the day they had spent holed up in his apartment, they hadn't brought up going to Mont Saint-Michel again and she had ended up forgetting.

And they had been together for almost a year, friends for much longer than that.

 _I neglected our relationship_ , she thought, but didn't dare bring it up when she saw him lean his head back and close his eyes.

"I'm taking you to the beach tomorrow," he said softly.

"You are?"

"I saw the way you were looking at the sea earlier today." She felt a little choked up and couldn't answer, touched beyond words that he had noticed and knew her so well. Her silence prompted him to open his eyes and turn to her. "'You okay?"

"I shouldn't have broken up with you."

There was a pause.

"Well, duh," he said as he reached for the takeout cartons.

She knew him by heart – if he deflected, it wasn't the time to talk about it.

* * *

The following day, they slept in for a bit, then headed to China Beach. According to House, it was the quietest beach, and they would be sheltered from the wind. They bought a towel on the way, as well as some lunch.

They walked down the lane leading to the beach, and sat on the sand. The water was too cold to even consider dipping their toes, but the weather was reasonably warm and the sky clear. They stared at the Golden Gate Bridge and listened to the waves crashing against the surrounding rocks without speaking for a while.

Cuddy closed her eyes and focused on the sound of the waves. She hadn't had an actual holiday ever since she had moved in D.C., although David had insisted they go somewhere for the summer. She hadn't been ready to leave her endocrinology department in someone else's hands by then. But now that she was here, that the stress of not finding Shaun was gone, she could take the time to relax and exist outside of work and her relationship with David.

She exhaled.

"You work too much."

She opened an eye.

"I thought that would have changed now that you don't run a hospital anymore."

"Then I guess you don't know me that well," she teased.

"I know you always give work everything that you have."

She smiled at the compliment.

"You did, too, when you had a case. Otherwise, you couldn't be bothered to care. God, if I ran my department like you did yours…"

"You wouldn't be as stressed out."

She laughed.

They ate lunch. House lied down and rested his head on his backpack. Cuddy lay perpendicularly, resting her head on his abdomen. He caressed her hair at the same rhythm as the waves. The towel was too short to accommodate them both and she was going to get sand on her jeans, but she didn't care.

"Wanna go see an exhibition at the Contemporary Jewish Museum later?"

" _You_ , in a Jewish museum?"

"You already took me Christmas shopping and to a Cathedral, we're past that. Besides, I thought you might wanna brush up on your Jewishness for Hanukkah."

"No need. My mom gives me a lecture every year."

"Ah, then forget it." She chuckled. "How about a movie at the Castro Theater tonight?"

Cuddy looked up at him. As she didn't say anything, House opened his eyes and looked at her, too.

"You just… we didn't do _that_ many things together in the year we were together," she said quietly.

He was silent for a moment. When they were together, she would have said it as a reproach. But now, he didn't hear resentment or judgement – only curiosity, which was why he didn't feel as bashful when he replied, "I'm not going to see you for a month."

She blinked. She felt the same way – only she had locked those feelings away, like she always did.

"And after that, you'll probably go back to D.C."

She rested her head back down, thinking about what he'd said.

"Let's do both," she decided.

* * *

The following – and last – day, they decided to take it easy and spend the day at the Golden Gate Park. They packed some lunch and a snack, and parked the car near the west end of the park.

They first saw Queen Wilhelmina's Windmill, and House enthusiastically told her about the tulip blooms in spring, which he had seen with Wilson.

At the mention of his friend, Cuddy saw his mood darken. She didn't say anything and held his hand as they walked instead.

They sat on a bench overlooking Spreckels Lake, and watched an elderly man nearby pilot his remote-controlled boat.

"I would have loved to have one, as a kid," House confessed.

"Think Shaun's into it?" she asked, hoping it would lift his mood a little. Kids had this ability to pull you into the present and away from the dark thoughts about your past.

He smiled.

They continued with their walk, sitting down in the grass for lunch. When they were done, they decided to lie down and doze for a while.

"'You okay?" she asked at some point, as they were laying side by side. He hadn't been talking much.

"Just Wilson," he said. "I would have wanted Shaun to meet him."

She acquiesced. "Me, too."

"Weird to think he's not gonna be here anymore."

She pursed her lips, trying to keep her tears at bay.

"God, it would just be so much easier if you weren't so stubborn and just believed in the after-life," she teased, half-meaning it.

"Do you?"

She sighed. "No."

* * *

They didn't have time for the de Young Museum or the Academy of Sciences, but Cuddy made a mental note to go back with Rachel someday, and headed straight to the Japanese Tea Garden, the San Francisco Botanical Gardens, and finally the Conservatory of Flowers, located in an impressive greenhouse, which they both loved.

At 6, they settled in a quiet corner of the park for Cuddy to call home. Then, they went out for dinner before going back to their hotel.

"How's Rachel?" House asked on the drive back.

"She's great. Can't wait to see me tomorrow."

He asked more questions – how was school, what was she into these days, did she get to see the White House yet – that he had been too awkward to ask before. Now that they had cleared some of the air between them, he felt more comfortable.

They were in an excellent mood when they climbed into the elevator, spontaneously holding hands; although the closer they got to their suite and to their impeding separation, words got scarce, smiles faded… Her heart pounded and she wondered if he could feel how clammy her palm had gotten.

She didn't want to say goodbye.


	9. Chapter Eight

Hi everyone!

Here is a new chapter. It's the reason this fic is rated M, as you'll soon find out...

I'm not sure when I will be able to update again. I just started university again and it doesn't look like I'll have as much time to write this semester... But! To keep you waiting in the meantime I have other fics ready, so keep an eye out for those. ;)

Thank you again for your feedback! Crossovers are an uncharted territory for me so I'm really glad you're enjoying the story. I hope you will like this chapter as well.

* * *

 **Chapter Eight  
**

* * *

Once in their suite, they took off their coats and kicked off their shoes in silence. Reluctantly, Cuddy opened the door of her room.

"I had a great time," she said softly as they stood on the threshold, about to say good night. "You're a pretty good guide."

They smiled. "Thank you."

But their smiles disappeared again, and all the things unsaid between them kept them from wishing each other a good night. They looked into each other's eyes. House felt his throat tighten.

"God, I can't believe I'm not going to see you for a month," Cuddy confessed, with more anguish than she wanted to let show.

He dove for her lips before he could think about it. It had come as naturally as breathing air – he wanted to make her feel better. He wanted to be with her. He wanted to tell her what he felt.

Cupping her cheek, he pressed his lips against hers. Cuddy welcomed him immediately, like she'd been waiting for him for hours, and parted her mouth as she wrapped her arms around his neck. His cane clattered to the floor and he pulled her impossibly closer to him.

They kissed like their lives depended on it, slowly but surely making their way to her bed as they pulled hair and caressed cheeks and necks. She didn't push him away, and he knew she wouldn't – he could feel it in the way she kissed him.

They were standing by the bed when he lifted the hem of her sweater. He missed her lips instantly when they parted to let him lift the garment over her head, but the upside was that he got to take a good look at her. Her hair was wild, her eyes were darker, her cheeks flushed and her lips swollen and wet.

He was speechless when his eyes travelled down to her chest. She was just like he remembered. It made him yearn for the familiarity of her and he wanted to bury himself in her cleavage again.

Cuddy chuckled when she saw the way he looked at her breasts. He seemed crazed, with his ruffled hair and flushed face and wet lips. She had desperately missed sex with him, she realised, and they hadn't even started yet.

She began unbuttoning his shirt expertly, kissing him as she did so. His hands naturally found her ass, and she laughed when he grabbed her and pressed her pelvis against his.

"Is it just like you remember?" she asked as she pushed his shirt past his shoulders.

"It's even better."

She found a graphic tee that she remembered from years before, and eagerly lifted it over his head – as high as she could, anyway. He did the rest of the job. She wanted to look at his chest again, too; his wide and muscular shoulders that always made her feel safe, the heap of hair on his sternum that she liked to play with, the bit of softness in his tummy.

She bit her lip.

"Like what you see?" he boasted.

She laughed. She wanted to tell him she'd missed him, but she didn't want to spoil their playful mood. So she reached around her back to unhook her bra, but he stopped her just in time. "I want to do it!"

She let him free her breasts, feeling both a little self-conscious and awesome when he stared.

"I missed those," he said as he cupped them, gently teasing her nipples with his thumbs. It sent a jolt of arousal straight to her core, and she grabbed his neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

House popped open the button of her jeans, and tried to pull them down her legs; but he barely got past her hips.

"How do you even get those on?" he asked as he nudged her towards the bed. "Do you get compartment syndrome in D.C. when they get tighter with the cold?"

She laughed and lay down on the bed, at first helping him peel her tight jeans off her; but when he was at mid-thigh, she reclined and decided to play with her nipples instead as she watched him undress her.

"Sorceress," he groaned as he removed her socks. She smirked and bit her lip. He finally got her jeans off and lay on top of her, causing her smile to widen. He gave her a deep kiss and she moaned into his mouth, as he slipped his hand into her panties. He found her soft and warm and wet and it felt like coming home.

Cuddy blindly reached for his pants, but he slithered away and kissed her neck. It had been so long – he needed to divert her attention if they didn't want things to end prematurely.

He trailed a line of wet kisses and playful bites down between her breasts, around each nipple, and further down to the edge of her pubic hair. But before he tasted her again – he had missed her smell so much it made him dizzy with desire – he ran his fingertips across her pubic hair, looking for the C-section scar she'd said was buried in her bush.

"Making sure the baby's mine?" she teased him as she rose on her elbow.

"Yeah, making sure you're not doing this for child support."

She laughed. "Can't sue a dead man for child support."

"Oh yeah, right."

Gently, she took his hand and guided the tip of his index finger across a line right above her pubis. He could barely discern the thin, discoloured line, but it was there.

The playful mood between them evaporated. The only thing in the room he could hear were their harsh breathings.

He kept touching the scar. Weird to think his son had been born through exactly there, all those years ago.

He kissed it. He heard Cuddy's breath hitch.

When he looked up she had tears in her eyes, so he didn't linger and proceeded to make her feel so fucking good instead.

He kissed her inner thighs, lifting her legs until they rested on his shoulders. He curled his arms around her thighs and just like that, they found their position like they'd only done this yesterday.

He _loved_ this. He watched her lie back and relax as he began to lick her, having her sighing and moaning in no time. He felt her toes curl against his back. One of her hands reached down and palmed his head, as the other gripped the pristine white sheet underneath her. The bed had been neatly made with fresh bedding in their absence, and they were making a mess. But what he loved the most was the way her pussy reacted to him, how her juices flowed freely under his tongue. Occasionally he caressed her with his fingers, too, gently penetrating her as he sucked on her clitoris, feeling her back arch and hearing her cry out when he rubbed her spot.

He paid close attention to her reactions as he devoured her; when he felt her walls clamp around his tongue and her back arched and she was close, he would ease her down the brink, only to drive her there again and again. He felt like he couldn't get enough of her.

She didn't complain, either; she wanted it to last for hours. Somehow in her foggied mind she knew she hadn't gotten it _this_ good since him, that she would have to wait until the next time. She would spend her entire life in this bed being eaten out by House if she could.

After some time, her moans were louder and more insistent. Her legs trembled against him. As fun as it was to make the moment last, he couldn't wait to make her come, too. Her orgasms were always something he relished, something he prided himself with, something he invariably thought of when it was just him and his hand.

To tease her further, he looked up at her as he massaged the length of her pussy with his fingers. Confused that he had stopped, she looked at him. Her eyes were dark and her lips were full. Her chest heaved at the rhythm of her pants.

"I don't know if I want to keep teasing you to make your orgasm sweeter, or if I want to make you come as many times as you can take."

With delight, he watched her face flush at his words.

"Make me come, House," she demanded. That she could put four words together at that point was nothing short of a miracle.

He'd teased her enough.

She felt that if he didn't do anything about that tension in her core soon, she was going to go insane. She needed that release.

They'd had an awful breakup, she hadn't heard from him in over a year, she had mourned him, and slowly begun to let him into her life again – and now she was ready to let him make her come again.

Staring into her eyes, he delved between her thighs again and kissed her sex purposefully, flicking her clit with his tongue as he thrust a couple fingers inside her and rubbed her spot.

Cuddy threw her head back and cried out as she came powerfully into his mouth. Her hand vaguely grasped the sheets in his direction, so he took it and laced their fingers. As her hips bucked against his face, he didn't let on and kept caressing her with intent, prolonging her orgasm until she was too sensitive and pushed his face away.

She had one arm thrown across her eyes as she gasped for her breath. With tenderness, he kissed the inside of her thigh, resting his hand on her lower stomach.

"Come here," she demanded as she grabbed his cheeks and brought his face to her.

He happily lay on top of her as she kissed him, eagerly licking her juices off his chin. She'd thought that after her orgasm she would be the tiniest bit satisfied, that she would be ready to take him in for as long as he wanted; but the fact was that her desire hadn't abated in the slightest. She was still as ready to come as five minutes ago.

"I want you inside me," she moaned, desperate, as she took his hand and guided his fingers deep inside herself. She ached at her emptiness where he was meant to be.

"Yes," he whispered back, staring into her eyes as he pulled his fingers out and unbuckled his belt. He pushed his jeans and underwear down, and Cuddy dragged them all the way to his ankles with her calves. She reached for his hard cock and gave it a quick tug. This, too, felt like coming home. She could cry with how badly she wanted them to be reunited again.

House groaned when Cuddy rubbed his tip against her soaked sex. She looked into his eyes and bit her lip. He temporarily forgot to get his wallet from his back pocket, until he felt her draw his penis to her entrance.

"Wait," he exclaimed. "I have a condom."

She shook her head. "I want you to come in me," she said in a way that could make him come on demand – and almost did, in fact. He heard her need in her voice and it made him heady that she wanted him that badly.

But he seemed to hesitate.

"I'm not having unprotected sex," she assured him.

"I'm not having sex."

She playfully arched her eyebrow. "Right now?" she asked, rubbing his cock against her lips again.

He bit his lip and just grinned at her.

He felt his heart burst with wanting to tell her how he felt, and he could see it in her glinting eyes, too, so he rested his weight on his elbows and gave her the deep kiss they needed. When their lips parted, she guided him inside her, loving how she felt him shift his weight against her torso as he prepared to enter her.

When he did, it was in one slow, long thrust, all the way to the hilt. He did it looking into her eyes, as she wrapped her legs around his hips to pull him even deeper, and she could feel his breath on her face. He tangled his hands in her hair.

When he couldn't go any further and stopped moving, she felt full with him, like she always had. Her eyes filled with tears before she could stop them. He hadn't looked away. They closed their eyes at the same time; neither were able to stand what they could read in each other's eyes. He rested his forehead against hers and they both thought that it felt just like before – and what bliss. Their breakup hadn't changed a thing, and neither had all those months apart.

He began to rotate his hips gently. Cuddy followed his movements, her walls squeezing him as she did. He loved how responsive she was, how perfect and in-sync they were together.

He tried pulling out of her a little, smothering a grunt as his thigh spasmed. Cuddy felt it and opened her eyes.

God, he wished he'd taken an ibuprofen before they started.

"Your leg?" she whispered.

He shouldn't feel self-conscious, he thought, because it wasn't the first time his leg bothered him when they were having sex, and it wasn't the first time she asked. Still, he averted his eyes and nodded.

"Lie down," she instructed. Then, she added in a whisper, "I want to make love to you."

He nodded and pulled out of her, easing onto his flank.

"A pill?" she asked as she sat up.

"I don't want to ruin the mood," he admitted in a whisper. Cuddy reached for his pants at the end of the bed and gave him the pill bottle she found.

She lay down on her flank facing him when he swallowed a pill. Gently, she took his hand and guided it to her sex, letting him feel how wet she was. A moan escaped her lips.

"Does the mood feel ruined to you?" she asked gently. He had a small, bashful smile.

She kissed him deeply and, while he kept caressing her sex, reached for his cock again. It was covered in her juices. He had lost a bit of hardness in the meantime, so she caressed his sex purposefully, nestled between their stomachs.

He groaned and pulled his mouth away from hers. "Just put me inside you," he rasped, his lower stomach heavy with need.

She felt the same way, so she gently pushed him onto his back. He let her, resting his hands on her hips as she straddled him. Without hesitation, she sank down on top of him, until she'd taken all of him.

Neither of them moved. They just basked in the feeling. House held her hips tighter and resisted the urge to close his eyes, because she was gathering her hair and putting it on one of her shoulders and he loved looking at her.

"God, you feel good," she breathed.

"So do you." He caressed his way up to one of her breasts, gently cupping it. Her hand joined his. She bit her lip and proceeded to make love to him, just as she'd promised. She slowly moved her hips in circles and he didn't move, only holding her hip and her breast to encourage her. He revelled in the soft, hushed noises she made, the look on her face. He was thankful that she was taking it slow; it had been a while and he wasn't sure if he would have been able to last as long as she would have liked.

But after a while, when the tension had built up to the point where it was unbearable, Cuddy leaned over and shifted her weight on her elbows, just like he had earlier. He rested his hands on her back, pulling her to him. She peppered his neck with open-mouthed kisses as she raised her pelvis until only his tip was inside her, then slowly took him in again.

"Again," he whispered in her ear, loving the feeling of her swallowing him whole. He caressed her back, held her hair. She nodded, whispered back that she loved the feel of him, and did it a few more times.

Then, he held onto her hips again, occasionally squeezing her ass, and accompanied each of her downward strokes with more urgency. He felt her pant against his neck. With one hand, he gently directed her face to his so he could kiss her.

They continued with a steady rhythm for a moment longer, kissing and caressing each other as she took him inside of her again and again. Each time was more desperate and urgent than the last.

Eventually, he felt her quiver in his arms. "God, House," she said as their lips parted, and he didn't need to be told what to do.

"Come on," he rasped as he slipped a hand between them, past sweaty skin and soaked pubic hair, rubbing her engorged clit. He didn't want it to end, ever, but he also desperately wanted to make her feel good, to make her come.

He felt her pussy squeeze him as she came with a loud moan. "Let me see you," he thought, or maybe he actually said it, as he pushed her hair away from her face and held it out of the way, wanting to see her elated face again.

He didn't know what pushed him over the edge, if it was the feeling of her coming around him or just looking at her, but before he knew it he was grabbing her hips and pulling her pelvis firmly against his, emptying himself inside her, the feeling of which had her coming again.

She collapsed on top of him with a breathless chuckle, his penis still inside her. He caressed her back, kissing her face and her hair, as she caught her breath.

"How come you had a condom handy?" she asked into his neck after a while, her words still a bit slurred. "Were you expecting to have sex with me?"

He chuckled a bit. "I kind of always have one in my wallet. Force of habit."

"But you said you haven't been having sex."

"Yes. So there's a good chance it's expired anyway."

"Oh, God," she muttered and he felt the tremor of her laugh against his chest. A minute later, she gathered enough energy to raise herself up on her elbows. They looked at each other's face for the longest time with a lazy smile.

"I like the patches of white on your chin," she said, rubbing the pad of her finger against his stubble. "You didn't have those last time."

"I like the patches of white in your hair."

She lightly punched his shoulder. "I don't have any!"

"I know."

"You're an ass." He smiled. "Also, you look ten years younger than when I saw you at the funeral."

"Sex with you does that."

She grinned. "Flattery won't get you anywhere, mister."

"I already got into your pants. Where else would I want to get?"

She chuckled. Her body was rocked by a small shiver. "Cold," she said with an apologetic pout, before she gently detached herself from him and got out of bed. "You need anything? A towel? Your pajamas?"

"Nope."

"I have to pack," she explained as she stood naked by the bed, and he loved how naturally it came to her. Just like the good old times. "Get ready for bed."

"Okay." He wondered if she was kicking him out.

"You're welcome to stay," she added with a bashful smile.

He happily threaded his way under the comforter. His enthusiasm made her laugh.

He watched her go around the bed to pick up the clothes they'd shed earlier, casting him a mock-evil eye as she did so. Then, she disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes. He heard the same sounds as usual; her showering, brushing her teeth, applying lotion, brushing her hair. Her nightly ritual hadn't changed one bit.

If he closed his eyes, he was in Princeton with her.

Then, he watched her pack her suitcase.

She was organised, and it didn't take her more than a few minutes, but it was enough to remind him that he wouldn't see her for another month. In a few hours, she'd be flying back to the other end of the country to be with someone else. He'd forgotten about that – and he was guessing she had, too. After she had turned off all the lights in their suite, leaving only her bedside lamp, she crawled in bed next to him with a weary sigh.

They lay facing each other. He rested his hand on her hip. She was wearing a tank top and shorts he was familiar with. He liked feeling the silky texture of it again.

He didn't tell her that he didn't want her to leave, but then he didn't need to, because she could see it in his eyes. She didn't want to leave, either.

She licked her lips. "Maybe you could look into fixing the whole 'dead' situation," she suggested softly. "Find a lawyer."

"Yeah."

"Since it looks like you're sticking around, after all."

Perhaps it was her way of ensuring that he wouldn't hurt himself while she wasn't there, that he would keep busy. He hadn't had such thoughts in quite some time, though. She was back in his life. He had yet to meet his son. It was worth getting his life back…

"Okay."

"Then I can finally sue you for child support."

They smiled. Then, she reached for her phone on the bedside table. He watched her set the alarm impossibly early. "I'll have to be out of here by seven thirty," she informed him.

"A.m.?" he gasped. She rolled her eyes. "I'll drive you."

Silence settled between them again. She rolled over to turn off the light and settled in his arms again. He happily welcomed her against his chest.

He caressed her shoulder to lull her to sleep, breathing in the smell of her hair.

"I forgive you."

She'd said it so quietly, it hadn't perturbed their peace at all.

"Everything you did."

He felt his throat tighten.

He was overcome with words he wanted to say but didn't dare, so he tilted her chin up and kissed her.

Just like always, he couldn't feel a single moment of happiness without fearing that it would be taken away from him… She must have felt it in his kiss, or maybe she just knew him that well, because she pulled away and looked at him with a concerned frown.

"Cuddy, you're coming back next month? Right?" he asked with an anguish that tore her heart apart.

"Yes," she promised him as she kissed him again.


	10. Chapter Nine

Hello! Long time no see...

I am so sorry, you guys. I was swamped with uni the last two months, and I've been looking for another apartment (still haven't found one). I just didn't have the chance to work on this story and get the new chapter ready...

I have a bit more free time now. I'll definitely be quicker to publish the next chapter, I promise!

Thank you for your patience. Thank you for your feedback. I'm always glad to hear you like what you've read!

Again, quick disclaimer: I'm not Jewish or American, so I do a lot of research about... everything. I hope the story is realistic enough!

* * *

 **Chapter Nine**

* * *

As usual, she got up way earlier than he did.

When the alarm on her phone woke them up, she was still nestled in his arms. He heard her soft, usual grunt when she was finally conscious again. He kissed her hair gently to encourage her.

"Want me to order up breakfast for you?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Can't eat anything."

She kissed him on the lips before she got out of bed.

He took an ibuprofen pill, and drifted in and out of sleep, comforted by the sounds of her morning routine. It had stayed the same, too. Just like the night before, he closed his eyes and pretended he was in her house in Princeton, he was catching some more sleep and joining her in the hospital a bit later on.

She blow-dried her hair by the bed to avoid the residual moisture in the bathroom. He watched her straighten her hair, already missing the wind-swept curls of San Francisco Cuddy. He watched her put her clothes on, too – a pale grey sweater and black dress pants, appropriate for the D.C. weather and a five-hour flight.

When she finished packing her remaining toiletries in her suitcase, he got out of bed and put clothes on.

"Sure you don't want to eat?" he asked as she stepped into her shoes.

"I'll get something on the plane."

She donned her coat and exhaled loudly.

"You'll see Rachel in a few hours," he tried to comfort her.

"Yeah."

She grabbed her luggage and walked out of the suite. He looked at his watch – seven thirty sharp.

On their way to the airport, they didn't talk. He held the steering wheel with one hand, and hers with the other.

He followed her into the terminal, still without a word. They looked at the departures board, found her flight, went to check in her suitcase. Then, they made their way to security as slowly as possible, ambling across the terminal hand in hand.

They stood facing each other when it was time to part.

"Enjoy Hanukkah," he said, holding her hands. She pursed her lips and nodded vigorously, trying to keep from crying.

"I'll call you every day," she promised.

"You don't have to."

"I will."

They stared into each other's eyes, and allowed themselves one last kiss. It was tender and desperate, and it brought tears to their eyes.

When they parted, her and his 'I love you' stayed trapped in their mouths, because they both knew that if they said it, she would never leave. So they pressed their foreheads against each other, their lips shut tight, as they wrapped their arms around each other.

"Come on," he encouraged her in a whisper, even though he didn't want her to leave. "You'll miss your flight."

She nodded resolutely. Cuddy gave him one last long, lingering kiss.

"I'll see you in a month," she promised against his lips, before turning away and heading to security. He watched her until she was lost in the crowd.

She turned back to him a couple times. Their eyes locked, but they didn't wave. Her chest ached from trying not to cry. She had never been through that before, she realised – leaving him two thousand miles behind.

She hoped that he would still be there, waiting for her. That he wouldn't believe she was going to change her mind and stay with David, who was a much safer choice after all. He had been scared of that before. But their third first time had been prompted by the happiness of being together. Not by a baby she had lost, not by a devastating night when he had lost a patient. Maybe they stood a chance this time.

* * *

Cuddy didn't shed a single tear.

She held herself together when her plane took off and she watched San Francisco disappear from the window at a frightening speed. She thought her chest might burst. Then, she laid her head back and tried to relax, focusing on her happy memories of the past day, on the promise that she would be back in January.

Her plane landed at five. As she was waiting for her luggage by the conveyor belt, she texted House to let him know she'd arrived. He replied immediately, and she was both flattered and nostalgic that he did.

She heard Rachel call her before she saw her family. David gave her a wave, and she strode towards them, immediately kneeling to welcome Rachel into her arms.

"I've got something for you," she told Rachel as she pulled the snow globe out of her handbag. Rachel excitedly tore off the wrapping paper and gasped.

"It's so pretty!"

"It's the most famous bridge of San Francisco."

Rachel shook the globe and watched the little flakes fly around, mesmerised. When David secured her in the car seat, she was still looking at it.

He and Cuddy didn't talk much. He'd given her a quick peck on the lips to greet her and had taken her bags to the car.

"Might take longer to get home with the snow," he said as he started the car. She sighed inwardly.

"The weather in San Francisco was so nice." She wanted to smell the sea. She wanted to feel the wind blow through her hair. She wanted to feel House's hands on her.

They listened to music on the way, with Rachel absent-mindedly singing along. When they got home, they both focused on Rachel. Cuddy found that nothing had changed between her and David in the meantime – he was still cold and distant. She was the one who had changed.

How could she live like this when she could be with House?

She mentally debated that question as she made herself tea in the kitchen after putting Rachel to bed.

David sat at the kitchen table.

"Tea?" she asked him as she grabbed her mug from the cupboard.

"I'm good."

She waited for the water to boil without a word, turning her back to him.

"I didn't find your name on the symposium's website," he said after a minute.

"Well, it was very last minute. Maybe they didn't think to update it."

"What was your panel about?"

"Hypothyroidism," she replied off the top of her head. She was thankful that medicine was completely impenetrable to David; she wouldn't have to invent an entire conference to convince him.

"Did you attend other panels?"

"Yeah, a few."

"Which?"

She shrugged. "I was tired. Didn't really pay attention. It's not like I wanted to be there anyway."

"Which?"

"What, you want witnesses to confirm my alibi?" she chuckled testily. "Do you want names?"

"The hospital called yesterday."

Cuddy whirled around. "You're only telling me now? Was it urgent?"

"It's fine, they called back to say they didn't need to get a hold of you anymore. They also said they were sorry to call you in the middle of a family emergency."

She gulped.

"Where were you?" he asked, calmly enough for her to know he was angry.

She leaned back against the counter. "I was in San Francisco," she replied quietly.

"Were you at the symposium?"

She sighed. She didn't have it in her to save that relationship. Yes, he was a safe choice. They were reasonably happy together. Rachel loved him. But she could have so much more than him…

"No."

"Where?"

"I had something else to attend to."

"What?"

She shrugged. She had no intention of telling him about Shaun or about House. It felt too intimate, too personal. "Just personal stuff."

David laughed. " _Personal_ stuff? How long have we been living together, Lisa?"

"I just can't tell you!"

"Can't or don't want to?"

 _Don't want to_ , she thought, wondering why she was having this conversation when she could be with House instead.

"You can't disappear at the other end of the country for a week for no reason!" he continued as he stood up, louder to cover the noise of the water boiling. "Christ, what is it? Do you have a secret family in California?!"

She must have looked particularly guilty, because David laughed with disbelief.

The kettle clicked. The kitchen was silent again.

"I'm not going to leave overnight because of Rachel," he said. "We said we'd celebrate Hanukkah, and we will. But consider me already moved out. After that week, I'm gone."

"Fine."

He scoffed at her lack of protest and left the room.

Cuddy thought about it for a second, and poured herself a cup of tea.

* * *

She held on until the end of Hanukkah, because she wanted Rachel to have that experience. And the kid loved it – she loved watching the menorah, lit by either David or her mother, while eating latkes and sufganiyot. Some nights they played Dreidel and read her books about Judaism.

Cuddy called House every day, like she had promised. She usually didn't have the occasion to make a private phone call at the hospital, so she waited until Rachel was in bed and David asleep in the guest room. She buried herself under the covers, turned the lights off, and they talked for a while. Sometimes, she closed her eyes and pretended he was in bed beside her.

He had left the hotel in San Francisco and rented a small furnished apartment in San Jose, and contacted a lawyer there. They talked about Wilson, about her day at the hospital, about his part-time job in a bookstore. She'd cry for a minute after they'd hung up – every time – then pull herself together, as she always did. She counted the days until January.

Then Hanukkah ended.

On the following Monday, Cuddy and David sat Rachel down in the living-room and explained to her that David wouldn't live with them anymore. Rachel was upset, but Cuddy assured her they would see David again from time to time – a decision they had taken together for the sake of Rachel.

A few days later, David was gone. Christmas was in less than a week. She wouldn't be making the trip to New Jersey and Julia wouldn't visit her, since she was going to be on call and it was planned that David would be babysitting.

(She thought it ironic that she used to volunteer to be on shift on Christmas when she was single and childless, and didn't have a choice now that she had a little girl)

She asked Rachel if she would like to spend Christmas on the beach.

* * *

"Can you pick us up at the airport tomorrow?" Cuddy asked him.

House stopped chewing – due to the time difference, she always called at the perfect time for him to 'have dinner' with her.

"The airport? In San Francisco?"

"Yes. Rachel and I."

Her voice was tight with excitement. His must have been too, he thought, after that revelation.

"What time?"

"There's a flight that lands at one in the afternoon."

"I'll be there."

"I'll get the tickets."

He didn't sleep much that night.

* * *

Cuddy grabbed her suitcase from the conveyor belt surprisingly easily, considering she was holding a dead asleep Rachel against her in one arm. She made her way to the exit, looking for a tall guy with a cane, who waved as soon as he saw her.

She strode straight to him, her heart getting heavier as she got closer to him. The second she was in front of him, she pressed her lips against his for the longest time, Rachel still asleep between them. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him as much as he could without crushing the kid.

"Missed you," he whispered as they parted and rested their forehead against one another. She rubbed his arm through his leather jacket. "How was the flight?"

"She cried a little because her ears felt funny, but otherwise great. She loved the view."

In spite of them talking in hushed voices, Rachel woke up and turned to the man speaking to her mom.

"Howse," she mumbled drowsily, before somehow turning around and resting her head on his shoulder with Cuddy still holding her legs, falling right back to sleep.

They were speechless.

Cuddy turned to House and caressed his cheek as she wiped his tear.

"Honey, House can't carry you outside like this," she said softly as she brought her back against her shoulder. She kissed House's cheek and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed them as they headed to the parking lot.

"You got a new rental," she commented when he unlocked the car.

"Actually it's not a rental at all." He opened the rear door and helped her settle Rachel in the car seat he'd bought. "I sold the Dodge and got this one."

She was touched. "I know you liked that car."

"I bought it around the same time I met Wilson."

She never knew that. It pained her that he got rid of it around the same time that Wilson died, too. In a way, he'd done it for her, and not out of necessity. She loathed the car, but she still felt bad for him – which he sensed. He always did.

He shrugged. They made their way to the front. "It's had its day. I'm surprised it didn't break down between Princeton and here."

She chuckled, grateful that he didn't resent her. "Well, it survived my dining-room. What's two thousand miles?" she joked, but it wasn't as funny as she had thought. "I like this new one," she said as she ran her hand across the seat upholstery.

"Rachel will get the bed and we'll unfold the sofa bed," he told her as he started the car, eager to change the subject as well. "Unless you think you'll be more comfortable in a hotel room."

"No, we'll stay with you."

"Good."

House drove them down the Bayshore Freeway again. Cuddy turned around. Rachel was still asleep in the car seat, unaware of the view around her.

"Lots of excitement, her first flight," he commented.

"Yeah."

Finally, he dared ask the question which answer he was dreading: "Are you staying for the weekend?"

"A bit longer, actually," she replied. "I took some personal time from the hospital."

There was a pause. "Right," he mumbled.

He stopped talking after that, holding her hand as he drove. Cuddy, who was happy to see him, didn't worry about it and looked out the window with a blissful smile.

When they arrived at his apartment in San Jose, Rachel woke up. She took a look around the place, as Cuddy tucked her suitcase in a corner and House helped her put away her stuff and Rachel's wherever there was room. The apartment was smaller than the one he had in Princeton; it had a main room with a kitchen, a small dining area and a couch with a TV, a bedroom which could only fit a double bed and a dresser, and a bathroom with, thankfully, a bathtub.

It was sparsely furnished with cheap furniture, but Cuddy figured it was only temporary. She was already daring to consider getting them a bigger place, moving everything that Wilson had kept in storage for him – his books, his piano, his leather couch, his knick-knacks…

House unearthed a deck of cards in a drawer and they played a few games together, although a couple cards were missing. Then, they took Rachel to the park around the corner. By the time they got back, it was her bedtime – east coast time – so House ordered them pizza and Cuddy put Rachel to bed while he did the dishes.

She found House sitting at the dining table, an untouched glass of whisky in front of him. Which only confirmed her impression that since she told him she was staying indefinitely, he had been distant, in a way she had learned to recognise in the past.

She leaned against the kitchen counter, looking at his profile.

"How are you?" she asked softly.

"Fine," he answered without looking at her. He kept touching the glass but wasn't taking sips, she noticed.

"Did it… freak you out that I came on such short notice?"

"No. I'm glad you're here," he said, turning to her for a second – he meant what he said. "You and Rachel."

She had a small smile. He turned away again.

"I know that face, House. Is it because Rachel recognised you immediately?"

He sighed. He had been hoping to be able to smother his fears and insecurities, but Cuddy was like a dog with a bone. She was worried about him, she wanted to know why he felt what he felt; there was no way to escape this conversation.

"Are we going to pretend we haven't been here already?"


	11. Chapter Ten

Hi everyone!

So... it wasn't my intention to take so long to publish. Life got in the way. I'm in the middle of moving and studying for my finals, so it might take another while for the next chapter. Sorry, I hope you'll still enjoy it.

Thank you for your feedback. Please don't hesitate to let me know what you think :)

* * *

 **Chapter Ten**

* * *

She frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"You dumping your boyfriend overnight to be with me."

She sighed. The similarities with the conditions in which they'd gotten together the last time hadn't even grazed her mind. Now that he pointed it out, she had to admit it wasn't the best omen – but to her it didn't mean they were doomed. It didn't mean it wasn't worth a try.

"It wasn't overnight. And it's different this time," she assured him.

"Is it?"

She sighed and rubbed her brow. She'd just jumped on a plane to travel over two thousand miles to be with the man she loved and the guy was having second thoughts!

"You're saying this because you're afraid," she replied. "You always are. You can't imagine that I want to be with you." She wished he would turn to her. "But I _do_. I _want_ to be here, House."

"I'm sure you do. But dumping your boyfriend, moving to the other end of the country overnight, with your daughter… Have you thought this through?"

"Did you think it through when you faked your death in a burning building?" she snapped. "Or when you drove your car through my dining-room?"

She regretted her words immediately. House was silent for a few seconds.

"See what I mean?" he told her eventually.

"I shouldn't have said that."

"You had every right to."

"No, I didn't. You apologised. I said I forgave you. And I did."

He didn't say anything more.

"You _think_ you want to be with me," he continued after a while. "Because you miss Shaun. You miss Wilson. And I'm the closest thing you've got to either of them."

She heaved a deep sigh. Her eyes burned with the beginning of tears. "God, I wish that you would let yourself be loved," she said with a quaver in her voice.

He kept resolutely staring at his glass. Cuddy walked to him and leaned against the table.

"Look at me."

She cupped his face in her hands and tilted it towards her. She wasn't surprised to see tears in his eyes, too.

"I love you, House. I always will."

He shook his head. "Because we have a son and we live at the other end of the country and Wilson's gone, you think it'll be any different from last time?"

"I don't care," she replied softly. "I need you in my life. After I left Princeton I was miserable, I felt like something was missing. I missed you." She let a tear escape. "I can't live without you."

At a loss for words, House just gestured for her to fold herself into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and sat on his left thigh, draping her legs across his lap. He held her in his arms, caressing her back as he buried his face in her neck. He kissed off her tears and whispered in her ear that he loved her.

After a while, long after her tears had quelled and they were still holding on to each other, she felt him shift uncomfortably.

"Do you wanna have sex?" she whispered.

She felt him chuckle against her neck. "We have to open the sofa bed."

"I got the extra bedding from your room when I put Rachel to bed."

"Okay."

She pulled back and gave him a kiss. Then, without tearing her eyes from him, she stood up, took his hand, and led him to the couch. They removed the cover, unfolded the couch, and made the bed, well aware that they would soon have to make it all over again. Then, Cuddy went to place a chair against House's bedroom door while he drew the curtains.

They stood facing each other, and removed their own clothes without breaking eye contact. Neither tried to tease the other, they took off their clothes as though they were alone; but the mischievous spark in their eyes made all the difference.

They giggled when she almost tripped removing her tight jeans. House sat on the bed to take off his pants and underwear. They unabashedly checked each other's naked body out in the dim light, standing so close she could feel the heat radiating from him, even though they weren't touching.

House held out his hand, inviting her to sit on his lap again.

"Not yet," she whispered, cupping his face with both hands as she stood between his legs. He rested his hands on her hips and she ran her fingertips along his nose and his cheekbones. Then, she traced his lips with her thumb, loving the prickle of his stubble, and bowed to kiss him. He caressed her body while she did, every inch of her soft skin that was in his reach, pulling her just slightly closer to him.

Then, she peppered his face and neck with soft kisses, all the way down to his chest. She knelt between his legs to be more comfortable, resting her hands on his thighs. She felt him recoil from her touch a bit, then ease. She wondered how long it had been since someone had touched his bad leg. Maybe she'd been the last?

She kissed her way down to his navel, not forgetting to slowly and tenderly caress his thighs as well. He didn't tear his eyes from her as he gripped the edge of the mattress, enjoying what she was doing, no matter how badly he wanted to urge her along.

She looked up at him. Their eyes locked and her hands stilled.

"I love you, House," she whispered.

Her own confession caught her a bit by surprise. She had only wanted to _show him_ through her caresses, but she'd remembered how he didn't believe just a few minutes ago that she wanted to be with him, and she was going to make him feel so good, to convince him that she did want him – more than anything.

He tried to open his mouth to say something but his breath caught in his throat. She understood and leaned forward to press a wet kiss to his erection. He shuddered and she kissed him again and licked him, tasting salt, and resumed caressing his thighs.

"Yes," she heard him whisper at some point. He tenderly gathered her hair away from her face and held it in a ponytail, though without pushing her or encouraging her.

She moved her hand to his balls when she took his tip in her mouth. He groaned and gave a small thrust, so Cuddy got closer to him, wrapped her other hand around his hard cock and moved it up and down as she gradually took more of him in her mouth.

House was moaning low in his throat when she'd taken all of him. She slowly pulled him out and took him in again, only this time she didn't stop until he'd reached the back of her throat.

"Fuck," he gasped as he felt his balls tighten. "Cuddy."

She looked up with a self-satisfied smirk – Jesus, she still had his cock in her mouth, he thought.

She pulled him out just long enough to say, "I want you to come in my mouth."

Well, who was he to say no?

When she wrapped her mouth around him again, he let go, spilling himself down her throat with a low moan. She swallowed all that he gave her, watching the ecstasy on his face with delight.

She gave him one last kiss when he was done. Genuinely worried that he might faint, House lay back down on the bed.

"You okay there?" she teased, lying on top of him, skin to skin, her lips so close to his.

"No. You need to sit on my face to take my mind off my penis."

She chuckled and sat up. "Well, since you're asking so nicely…"

She rested each knee beside his head, hovering over his face. House helped her get settled, wrapping his arms around her thighs. She ran her hands through his hair, looking down at him with a tender look on her face. He was pleased to find her already wet for him, and rewarded her with a soft kiss to her inner thigh, making her shudder.

She unconsciously reached for a headboard, but this was a sofa bed – and they were lying sideways anyway. She gripped his forearm with one hand and bent over a little to rest her other hand on the mattress, hoping she wouldn't crush his face.

"I'm happy to suffocate to death between your thighs," he reassured her. She laughed a little, and he licked her entire length without a warning. Her laughter awkwardly turned into a moan but it didn't embarrass her. He smirked against her sex, loving the noises that she made.

He took his time to devour her, probably teasing her more than what was fair, but he enjoyed her soft moans above him far too much, and the grip she had on his hair when he was just a little too slow for her liking. He loved the smell of her all around him, intoxicating him, and he wanted to enjoy it as much as possible before she left him again – then he remembered the promise she'd made just earlier, and that made him want to make her come as hard as possible.

When he began to massage her with his hands and rub her clit with his thumb, he felt her muscles tense under his hands, her walls clench around his tongue. He opened his eyes and saw her arch her back and throw her head back, biting on her own hand to muffle her cry as she climaxed. However, he didn't let on, and continued his ministrations until she came a second time and she pushed him away because she was too sensitive for more.

She remained where she was for a minute, panting, getting her bearings back.

"Fuck, I want you," she breathed as she crawled backwards until she was hovering above his pelvis, pleased to find him half-erect again. He sat back up, wanting her on his lap again.

She rested each knee on either side of him, and he supported her with a hand on the small of her back until she had settled comfortably and wrapped her arms around his neck. He gave her a deep kiss, cupping one of her breasts. He felt her moan into his mouth and his cock twitched – he would be ready for her in no time.

His mouth moved to her neck, kissing and biting and he felt her shudder and heard her gasp, before he travelled down between her breasts. Then, he took a nipple into his mouth, sucking on it with a hint of teeth. Cuddy arched her back with a long moan, and leaned her cheek against his forehead. He felt her hectic breathing against his face as he kept caressing her body and playing with her nipples. The sensations he gave her quickly caused her to unconsciously rock her hips, occasionally rubbing her sex against his – which he thought was the hottest thing.

He gently lifted her hips and she let him, allowing him to slowly, languidly pull her down on his cock until she'd taken all of him. She gasped and he groaned. She was still sensitive from her orgasm and the feeling of him filling her and stretching her walls left her breathless.

He helped her wrap her legs around his hips, holding her tight against him. They basked in the feeling for a moment, holding each other and kissing tenderly. Cuddy began to rock her pelvis against him. He held her hips to encourage her at first, then began to meet her thrusts as he wrapped his arms around her again.

They caressed each other and kissed sloppily, whispering in each other's ears about how good it felt, how badly they had missed it, how much they loved each other.

As they responded to the urge to go faster, harder, the sofa bed beneath them began to squeak, causing Cuddy to chuckle breathlessly. It was loud enough that they both feared it would wake the kid.

"Oh, that won't do," he whispered teasingly, and prepared to lift her to go somewhere else, anywhere – the kitchen counter, the floor, a chair.

No, I'm almost there," she protested and picked up the pace, punctuating each move of her pelvis with a groan of effort, desperate for her release.

House grabbed her hips and lifted her instead, and she disentangled her legs from around him a bit. He pulled her up until only his tip was inside her, and forcefully pushed her back down. She bit on his shoulder to swallow her cries and he did it a few more times, flicking her clit with each downward thrust, until she squeezed his body with her limbs and her walls clamped down on him. He kept her against him as he spilled himself inside her with a groan, rubbing her clit to prolong her orgasm and hopefully trigger another one – which it did. She buried her face against his shoulder to smother her cry.

House helped her pull her legs alongside his and they flopped back on the bed with a final creak. Cuddy laughed. They were still breathless and holding each other.

"God, I can't wait to make love with you whenever we want again," she said. "Just like before."

He kissed her forehead. "I don't think the kid is awake."

"No."

They tried to hear any other sounds apart from their hectic breathings.

All quiet.

They basked in the afterglow for a moment, lazily kissing each other and caressing body parts. Eventually, his penis softened and slipped out of her. Cuddy groaned.

"I have to get up and wash up before I stain the sofa bed and you lose your deposit."

House looked at his semen sticking to her inner thigh when she stood up. He sighed happily.

"It's worth losing the deposit."

She gave him a long-suffering look, quickly gathered their clothing and took it to the hamper in the bathroom. Feeling bad that he was always the one staying in bed, he took an ibuprofen and made the bed again.

When she came back, wearing her usual tank top and shorts, she handed him the pyjamas he'd left in the bathroom and a towel to clean himself. She happily slipped under the fresh sheets.

"We make a good team," she commented when he joined her in bed. They'd naturally kept the same side of the bed as in Princeton.

"Kind of always have."

She smiled and touched his face with her fingertips. They were laying on their sides facing each other.

"You ask for crazy procedures and I save our asses by saying no," she whispered, like they were telling each other secrets. They used to do that in Princeton, too, when they were at her house and Rachel was sleeping in the next room. "You make the bed and I get us cleaned up."

"That's not so different."

She smiled. He rested his hand on her hip.

"You've been talking to your lawyer about getting your medical licence back, right?"

"I guess. My identity and avoiding jail time come first."

"It's important, House. You'll need to work again if you don't want to go nuts."

He rolled his eyes a bit. Not necessarily what he wanted to be talking about at that moment. "I know."

She let it go. They were both getting a little sleepy, and she was thinking of their conversation earlier.

"I will admit that flying to you overnight was a bit insane."

He chuckled. "Yeah, no kidding."

But she was serious. "If you feel like we're rushing into this… I'll take the time that you need."

He was touched and it startled him. That she was listening to him and his fears, and making sure they were doing it right… it was unexpected. It just showed that she did want to be with him again.

"Maybe it's best if you get your own place first, and then I move in," he suggested. "When we're ready."

"Okay."

They smiled.

"Can I stay here until January?" she asked with a grin.

"Um, actually, I was planning on having a hooker over in an hour, so…" She accidentally laughed too loud. "If you and Rachel could move out, say, immediately…" She grinned. He had a small smile and began to caress her hair. "Yeah, of course you can."

Cuddy cuddled up against his chest. "Thank you," she whispered, before kissing his Adam's apple. He let her tuck her head under his chin and he tickled her spine.

He felt her breathing deepening and slowing, but he was still thinking about their hushed conversations in Princeton. He sighed.

"You have to forgive yourself before I can forgive you," she said softly.

"I don't know if that's possible."

"I did forgive you, you know," she insisted. "I won't bring it up again."

"Maybe you should. Maybe we need to talk about it more."

She sighed. "I don't want it to ruin the good moments we have now."

He acquiesced, letting the matter go – for now – and held out his arm to switch off the small lamp on the coffee table beside him.

She pulled away from him a little when they re-settled, just staring at him.

"What?"

"Do you think about how long we've known each other sometimes? Everything that we went through?" she asked. "Things like your infarction or my failed IVF, or you getting shot, or the bus accident."

"Yeah."

"It was so long ago and you were already in my life. I've known you for more than half my life." He gulped and looked away. "I can't imagine not having you in it, I don't even remember what that was like." He didn't reply, so she continued. "Do you really think a nasty breakup and you driving your car into my house can get in the way of us?"

"It's not all I did."

"I know, but we gotta let it go. It's not the first time we hurt each other. Besides I know you don't believe in fate but…"

"Neither do you," he commented.

"We're linked, somehow, you and I."

He turned to her. Her head was getting heavier on his arm.

"You need to sleep," he said with a rub on her back.

She smiled. "Yeah."


	12. Chapter Eleven

Hi guys!

Here's the new chapter. It's been a few months... The reason why is that I haven't been enjoying working on this fic lately, so I've decided to take a break and focus on other things. Hopefully inspiration will come back (it always does, eventually).

In the meantime, I had this chapter ready-ish. I'm not fully satisfied with it but I hope you'll like it anyway.

Please don't hesitate to leave a review, let me know what you think. I love hearing from you guys!

Thank you for your patience, and I'll see you soon :)

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven**

* * *

It was still night when they were awakened by Rachel jumping on the sofa bed. House groaned and didn't dare look at the time. He heard Cuddy rub her face.

"Honey," she whispered.

"Get up, Mama!"

"She's still on east coast time," she told House.

He grudgingly opened an eye and looked at the microwave clock. "Well it's still five in the morning P.S.T. You're the endocrinologist, deal with her."

Rachel sat astride her mother's stomach and put her hands on her face. "C'mon, get up!"

"Rachel, honey," Cuddy said softly as she took her hands. "Do you remember when I told you we were _so_ _far_ from D.C. we're actually three hours behind?"

"No," she giggled.

"Well, your body –"

"Suprachiasmatic nucleus," House corrected, still turning away from them.

"– still thinks you're in D.C., but here in San Jose it's still night-time. So if you're hungry I'll get you breakfast, but if not, you can try going back to sleep for a little while, or play quietly in House's room."

"I'm not sleepy."

Cuddy smiled. "Oh, I think that if you close your eyes and really try to relax, you'll find you've still got some sleep in ya."

"Santa won't bring you any gifts if you don't," House mumbled. Cuddy swatted his shoulder.

"Nana said Santa don't bring gifts to Jews," Rachel said as she climbed down the bed. Singing, she grabbed her pile of books and took it to House's bedroom.

"I will kill my mother," Cuddy sighed once Rachel was out of earshot. House rolled onto his flank and spooned her.

Within half an hour, Rachel had joined them and curled up against her mother's chest.

* * *

Since Rachel was very much awake and the sun was out, they shared a brunch and drove to the nearest beach for the afternoon. House retrieved the towel he and Cuddy had in San Francisco, and they bought Rachel some beach toys on the way.

Once at the beach, Rachel immediately requested to go bathing, no matter how many times Cuddy had told her it would be too cold. They settled on dipping their toes. Rachel stood in front of her mom and laughed when the cold waves licked her feet. They didn't stay too long and joined House who was sitting on the towel further back, thoroughly drying their feet before putting their socks and shoes back on.

"San Jose or San Francisco?" Cuddy asked House, her head resting on his shoulder, as they watched Rachel fill her bucket with sand.

"Well, San Fran is very nice, but it's hell on my leg."

She nodded. "I'll look into preschools here then, see if I can get Rachel in before January."

"You won't change your mind then?"

She looked at him. "Nope."

"We made this crazy decision to live close to Shaun, move in together, and we don't even know if he'll want to meet us."

"The weather is nicer here than in D.C. or in Jersey," she argued. He smiled.

"I'll give you that."

"And Shaun isn't the only one I want to live close to."

They looked at each other. House smiled shyly.

Rachel upturned her bucket too far from the ground, and instead of the nice tower she was aiming for, all she got was a shapeless pile of sand. She had a disappointed pout. "Oh."

"Not so fast, kiddo," House said as he scooted closer to show her.

Cuddy watched with tenderness her boyfriend show her daughter how to make the best sand towers – he was patting the sand inside the bucket with her shovel to make it more compact.

She started planning the next few days – she'd have to find a house in San Jose and a preschool nearby, fly back to D.C. in January to prepare the move, pack her stuff, put her current house on the market, resign from the hospital, find another job…

"You'll have to tell me where that storage room is, in Trenton," she told House. "Where Wilson kept your things."

House turned to her with a timid, grateful smile.

…and return to San Jose as soon as possible to hopefully meet their son.

Rachel upturned her bucket when House told her to, and cautiously lifted it to reveal a tower. She clapped with excitement and House congratulated her.

She'd leave Rachel with House if it worked with his schedule at the bookstore. She didn't want the kid to miss too much school or to be always in between flights or long car rides. She had no doubt that he would agree, too.

Cuddy grinned. It might have seemed daunting to anyone else, but she'd administered a major hospital for years. This would be a walk in the park.

* * *

The following days, Cuddy went in search of a place when House wasn't at work, leaving Rachel with him. She explored San Jose with her kid when he had to be at the bookstore – it was owned by an old man who had to leave the shop frequently and didn't mind paying House under the table. He sold mostly antique books, which House hadn't been able to resist when he had walked past the shop. They'd immediately stricken up a conversation about old surgery textbooks, and when he'd told him about his frequent absences, House had offered to replace him.

By the time Christmas Eve rolled in, Cuddy had visited a few houses, but hadn't found the one yet – not that she had expected to so soon. House had surprised her by bringing home a small tree, which they'd helped Rachel decorate with a bunch of old ornaments in a cardboard box that he had brought as well. They had a nice meal and watched whatever holiday movie was on TV, before tucking in Rachel way past her bedtime.

House and Cuddy washed the dishes and showered. When they were sure the kid was asleep, they put under the tree the presents they had gotten for her.

Then, they opened the sofa bed and made love quietly.

"It's my first real Christmas since…" House reminisced as they lay on their back, staring at the ceiling in the dark. Her head rested on his shoulder and he caressed her bicep with his fingertips. "Since I was a kid. And even then it wasn't fun. Either my father was working and my mom felt lonely, or he was there and it didn't feel like Christmas."

"You didn't celebrate with Stacy?" she asked, curious.

He shook his head. "No kids so no tree, no Christmas traditions. Just a turkey and wine and an exchange of gifts."

"You had a case on Christmas, the year we were together," she remembered. They hadn't celebrated either, but then that was usually the way it was, working in medicine. He hummed. She took the hand caressing her arm and brought it to her lips, kissed the back of his fingers and held his hand close to her face. He extended his index finger and touched her cheek, light as a feather. "Do you like it so far?"

"I like what we do once the kid is asleep," he deflected. She grinned.

They slowly drifted to sleep. Cuddy felt him tap his fingers on his thigh, like on a piano keyboard.

It was time to move his stuff here.

* * *

On New Year's Eve, Cuddy had found a place that she liked and taken Rachel to visit it, who had approved. House had declined coming with them, reminding her that it was _her_ house and that they'd decided not to move in together right away. She had also managed to get Rachel in the nearest preschool.

Every night she was exhausted by the time she came back to the apartment. House usually had Rachel bathed and in her pyjamas. She liked how they worked as a team to build their future in San Jose. For the first time, she felt like she could really trust him and count on him as a partner. He really _had_ changed.

On the last day of the year, they shared a big meal and decided to wait until midnight to go to bed, although Rachel fell asleep by ten. They tucked in the kid and sat on the sofa bed, talking quietly while they watched TV on mute. At half past eleven, House suggested they opened the bottle of champagne that was in the fridge.

"Just open it like a normal person this time," Cuddy implored as House sat beside her with the bottle and two glasses.

They both smiled at the memory, but their smiles faded when they remembered Wilson had knocked on his door right after he'd broken the bottle – House even glanced at the door.

"Come here." House set the glassware on the coffee table and curled up on the sofa bed, resting his head on Cuddy's lap. She gently ran her hand through his hair as they thought about Wilson and waited for midnight.

"When you're in Jersey," he spoke up after a while. "Will you go to his grave?"

"Of course."

"I'll go as soon as I can fly again."

"I'll go for both of us in the meantime." He nodded. She kept caressing his hair. "I understand if you feel like you're leaving him behind."

House didn't answer, but that didn't surprise her. She thought that it would help that he wasn't looking at her. But admittedly, it was a difficult question; it upturned his vision that the after-life didn't exist, that since Wilson was dead and gone it didn't matter that he now lived two thousand miles away from his grave – except it _did_ matter because the distance made him feel awful, things he didn't have words for because he wasn't used to them.

"I feel like I am," she confessed. "Even though he's not there. But we have all our memories with him there. We're reminded of him by any little detail. Here, it feels like we'll lose touch with our memories."

"I taunted him for wanting to move away after Amber died," he said.

"I know. But it's different, isn't it? You're not running away from his death. You're running –"

"Limping would be more accurate," he interrupted her, which she took as a sign that he was feeling a little bit better. She still rolled her eyes.

"You're _limping_ towards meeting Shaun, towards life with me and Rachel." He hummed. "Besides, you have memories in San Francisco with Wilson. You shared them with me. He's all over the country now. You could go anywhere and he'd still be with you."

He smiled. "You know," he continued. "I didn't get to see his grave. I didn't go after the funeral because I didn't want to risk being seen. And after I saw you I drove straight to Casper."

"You will," she promised. They were silent once again. "He would want this for us, you know," she whispered.

He looked up at her. "I know."

They shared a smile. Cuddy glanced at the microwave clock, and bent over to kiss him.

"Happy 2013, House," she whispered against his lips.


End file.
